


Days of his Wives

by Lupienne



Series: Days of his Wives [1]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Mentions of Rape/Sexual Abuse, Multi, Negan (Walking Dead) Being an Asshole, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Oral Sex, Polygamy, Profanity, Protective Negan (Walking Dead), Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, Spanking, Switchy Negan, Threesome, Torture, WIP, don't fuck with the saviors, negan protecting his people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-03-28 07:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 81,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13899132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lupienne/pseuds/Lupienne
Summary: A peek at what goes on in Negan's little world of babes and bitches. A slice of life... of being a Negan wife! (Comic-based but slightly AU. Starts well before issue #100 (Glenn's death for you TV watchers. :)) WIP. Lots of smut! Negan being an idiot...as usual.)





	1. Wifey #5

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: My story is based off the comics in terms of storyline, and Negan's looks and personality. The other canon characters such as Sherry, Amber, Dwight and Carson are also comic-based (with my own twist.) I note this because TV and Comic canon have major differences. If you've never read the comics, however, don't let this deter you! I tend to write in my own AU anyway. :)
> 
> This is my take on Negan's polygamous lifestyle involving his multiple wives and it follows the comic's notion that the position of wife is voluntary. Currently a WIP. Consider it a little slice of life of Negan's wives! It roughly follows the comic's timeline but starts off well before Negan encounters Rick and his people. Each 'chapter' is just a snippet of the whole story, but hopefully is enjoyable as a 'vignette' all on it's own....it's also an excuse to write porn. Lots of badly-written porn! YAY!
> 
> (I deleted this and my other works a while ago due to feeling very discouraged over writing in general. But...I'm back, baby. Woe is you!)

The penthouse of Sanctuary was another world.

Carson had led Amber up the narrow metal-grated stairways of their factory home, to the doors that led to Negan's quarters. Unassuming doors, painted grey, the paint flaking off to expose the rust and silver beneath. She held her breath as he swung it open, as he ushered her inside and left her there.

She let the breath out.

This was a different world.

Amber was transported to the lush, fragranced rooms of Victorian paintings, instead of the derelict ruins of the post-apocalypse. She felt as a time traveler, one foot in the past. The door behind her led back to the present: Metal ducting, exposed pipes crawling the high ceilings, concrete floors -the constant chill in the air, the ever-present groan of the Walker sentinels staked outside – that was the world she came from.

'I could get used to this...' Her eyes wandered the ruby-red carpet, the plush inches deep. Opulent wooden end-tables, stacked with books – books! She had never wanted to read so badly. She shifted her feet, almost daring to go take one – when a side door opened and Sherry emerged.

The woman – Negan's first wife – was smiling warmly, her overgrown bangs sweeping to the side like feathers. Her eyes were a gentle green-blue, but something hard lurked behind them. She was wearing a sapphire-toned bustier top and tight black jeans. Immaculate, slender, like she'd stepped off the pages of a magazine.

Amber indulged in her bad habit – lip-biting. She caught sight of herself in a large wall mirror. Her blond hair a bit unkempt, spilling messily onto her forehead, her baby-blues wide as an owl's. Her posture slightly slumped to downplay her large breasts – a stance that never seemed to stop men from eye-fucking her. Her dirty jeans and oversized sweater, the fabric pilled and grungy. It was hardly her best first impression.

"Hi there, Amber." Sherry sat in one of the wing-backed chairs near an ash-filled fireplace. "Want to take a seat?"

Amber obliged, taking the other chair. "Uh, hi. So...um...is there still a spot open?"

"Yep. The last girl just left about 10 minutes ago. I don't know what Carson was thinking bringing her up here." A long-suffering sigh escaped the older woman. "Sorry. Just a bit annoyed. She claimed to be eighteen, but she was barely pushing fifteen." She pitched her voice low in imitation of a man's. " _Sherry – what the fuck is this? I'd feel like a filthy old man fucking a kid like that!_ ' Yeah right...He was thinking about it – I'm sure – but then he must've realized just how long I'd let him keep his testicles if he let her in."

Amber's lip was a delicacy. Sherry shook her head and laughed. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry. I'm sure you're nervous enough without having to hear that crap. Anyway, yes, there's still a spot, and you're the last one to apply. Lucky you."

Amber couldn't decipher the tone of that last comment. Cynical? Jealous? Angry?

"So you're sure about this? Being a wife and all? Yes, you get the benefits of living here and not having to earn points but you have to deal with – you know." Sherry rolled her eyes. "Negan."

"Um...yeah." Amber swallowed hard, trying to kill the anxiety butterflies in her gut. "I'm sure. I...uh...thought about it a lot." She scanned the opulent room, focusing her gaze on the ceiling-high windows and the cerulean skies beyond. So...what's he...like?"

"What does he like? Blowjobs and sex." A sardonic smile sat on Sherry's lips – out of place with the rest of her gentle features. "Pretty easy to please, really."

That made Amber squirm. Her pale complexion forever betrayed her discomfort, flushing red at the worst times. She knew what her new 'job' would entail, yes, but thinking about it from the distance of the factory floor – and being here in the Savior King's lair were two different things. The horrible butterflies multiplied. Being in front of the man himself would be the final test of her resolve. She could not break.

Sherry was watching her closely.

"I meant...uh...what is HE like?" Amber forced a smile onto her abused lips. She'd had few interactions with the man, nothing telling, and the stories of their glorious leader that bounced around Sanctuary ranged from 'he's a god' to 'he's the devil'. Sherry was a better source of the truth.

"Oh." Sherry brushed a stray hair away. "A huge, obnoxious asshole. Basically. Bad sense of humor. Did I mention obnoxious?"

Amber's eyes darted to every closed door in the room – a total of three – hoping Negan wasn't overhearing this abuse of his character.

Sherry was still eying her intently, and now she leaned forward, her features solemn. "Look, there's something I need to know. Do you have a boyfriend? A husband?"

Amber's smile faltered. Her voice was a squeak. "Uh...yeah. M-M-Mark. He doesn't want me to do this – but...we're not...I mean...I love him but we were almost like...a couple for convenience. We were neighbors since we were kids, he was a frail kid...and I always wanted to protect him..." Her nervous voice rambled into Sherry's silence. The other woman's eyes were simultaneously soft and hard, her hand clenching on her knee. "Look – I don't have a problem NOT being with Mark, I'm ok with it – I just want him to be safe and provide for him! That's why I'm here!"

"You might think that now. But you're going to miss him later."

Helping Mark was her priority. He'd been asthmatic since childhood, often bullied, her reliable friend, and in her teenage years – her first lover. Still, her love for him had never deepened into a lifetime commitment. They had their conflicts, and the falling of the world had made a rift between them...but she could not stand aside and watch Mark scrape by at the bottom of the Savior food chain, or watch the stronger, more able men belittle him any further.

 _'If I have to be another man's lover for him, I will._ ' For the first time, her face grew stern. "Yeah. I probably will. But like I said, I thought about this for a long time. I know what I'm doing."

Sherry leaned back. "All right, Amber. I guess that's it..." Her voice was suddenly weary, but she smiled through it. "If you're ready, I'll send you in."

She was chewing her lip anew, her stomach crawling with caterpillars and flighty-butterflies, all stages of the damned insects. Shit – she was suddenly terrified. Her nod was more like a nervous twitch.

"Ok. I'll be right back." Sherry disappeared behind one of the closed doors. Amber could hear nothing – wanting badly to eavesdrop – but remaining, fidgeting, in the plushy seat. A few moments later, the woman was back, gesturing her to enter.

Amber stood, receiving a comforting rub on the arm. Sherry let her hand linger, her smile warming the younger girl. "Remember...you're not committed to anything yet, ok...? You'll be all right."

Amber wanted to walk forward, but her knees were suddenly locked. "Is he gonna want to...right away?"

The comforting hand rubbed some more. "Doubt it. He might want to see... well...what you have to offer."

Ugh. Amber's brow crinkled, and she damned the sudden cracks in her resolve.

"Don't be scared..you'll be alright."

Amber nodded, brushing sweat off her upper lip, and taking a few deep, relaxing breaths. She grasped the knob, turned it, and stepped forward into a bedroom as richly decorated as the sitting area. She reached behind with one hand to ease the door shut – it latched with a soft click.

A huge four-poster bed dominated the middle of the room, the rest of the space flowing into another sitting area near the windows. Gauzy maroon curtains were draped over them, and a pool of reddened sunlight lay right before the bed. _'Red light special'_ , Amber thought inexplicably. ' _That's what I am...'_ She thought it would be funny to stand there, basking in her own personal spotlight.

A massive bookcase – oh divinity! - was against the wall, messily stocked with everything from hardcovers to magazines. There was another fireplace opposite the bed, and the ashes indicated it was functional. While they had a wood stove, and several large braziers to throw off heat in the lower levels, there was a chill that permeated the foundry, and cold had become an unpleasant companion. She'd be able to leave that companion behind if she stayed here.

Atop the mantle sat the infamous Lucille, the baseball bat with the barbs long-rusted with blood. There appeared to be a wooden cradle specifically built to house the vicious weapon. While she'd never seen it in action, she could only imagine – and a hard shudder racked her body.

"So, you're my next applicant, huh? Hope you're older than the last chick. Fuck."

She nearly toppled over, jumping back into the door. The knob gouged her painfully in the back. Right. She was in here for a reason. Her eyes darted to the window where she had somehow missed his figure lounging in the far armchair. She stepped to the side – one of the bed's posters had been blocking her view.

Her potential husband was slouched into the chair's red-velvet cushions, one boot slung across his knee. His nose was buried in a book – 'The Art of War' – and she could just see the top of his glossy black head.

"Um yeah, that's me. I'm uh..." This sounded stupid. "...legal."

"Oh right. Wouldn't want the po-leese to arrest my fucking ass." Negan lowered the book and grinned at her with a mouthful of teeth that would be a dentist's dream (or worst nightmare). He waved the book at her. "You ever read this shit? 'The Art of fucking War'?"

She didn't recall seeing 'fucking' in the title, but she let it pass. "Um no. I've heard of it, though."

He laughed. "I actually don't understand fuck-all of it, but whatever. It sounds bad ass, right?" He unceremoniously tossed the book, nearly landing it in the fireplace. She cringed – not liking to see a book mistreated like that – but once again she let it go. "I prefer the 'Art of Fucking' myself."

"Uh..." She stared at the floor. The damned pupae in her stomach were hatching into more butterflies. She wasn't ready to create that sort of 'art' yet, but...

_'If that's what I have to do...'_

A crinkling noise came from his direction and she glanced up. He held a rarity – a king-sized bar of chocolate. Her mouth was flooded with saliva, and she swallowed painfully – it only furthered the turmoil of her stomach.

"Want some?"

Her poise was rigid, her brow popping with sweat. She struggled to fight away her nerves. This was stupid – she could walk out at anytime, there was nothing to fear. She could go back to Mark and their shitty place at the bottom of the totem pole – their constant scraping for points. "No..." she said, her voice scarcely a whisper.

"A girl who turns down chocolate...what the fuckity fuck?" He ate a piece with gusto. "Who would've fucking thought? You sure? Once it's gone, it is motherfucking _gone_."

"Maybe later..."

He shrugged and broke off a large hunk of it, setting it on the end table. "Can't guarantee it won't get nabbed by one of the girls... So hey. What's your name? Something with an 'A', right? Ashley or some-fucking-thing like that?"

"Umm. Amber."

"Awesome. Nice to meet you Umamber."

"It's just-" She started, and then trailed off. His cheerful smile was starting to get to her.

Like he was reading her thoughts, he frowned and his lips drew into a pout. "Why the fuck are you way over there? How am I supposed to see you?"

She came forward, standing just in front of the sun's spotlight, the rays warming the top of her head. In the window's reflection, she could see her blond crown lit up like a halo. Yes, she the supposed angel, here in front of the demon.

"That's better." He nonchalantly sucked chocolate off his fingertips, eying her length-wise. She tried not to stare at him, her gaze hovering on his elevated foot. Black boot leather spotted with faded brown splotches. Blood? Walker blood...she surmised. She _hoped_.

"Christ, what are you wearing?" She could hear the scowl in his voice. "That sweater is big enough for three people."

She shrugged. "It's all I have... " She addressed him like all good Saviors did. "...Sir." Shit. She'd forgotten to say it before. Then again, he hadn't chastised her. She flitted her gaze to his face. He was still scrutinizing her, his head propped on one hand.

"Well, take that shit off already. Let's see what you got."

She flustered. Cheeks all red again. She supposed this was the 'goods check' Sherry had mentioned. "R-R-Right now...?" She stammered.

"Ummmhmmmm," he said, through another mouthful of chocolate. She waited until he was focused on sucking the sweet stuff off his fingers before she presented her offerings. She pulled off the heavy sweater, somewhat relieved to get the hot garment off her flushed skin. Her thin t-shirt dropped atop the sweater. Finally, she pulled off her camisole, loose and ill-formed from months of wear, and let the sad piece of cloth fall. She forced herself into an upright posture, fighting her habit to slouch. After all, there was no hiding her breasts now.

"Holy titties!" He beamed, as happy as a Walker with fresh meat. "Why the fuck were you hiding those babies under THAT?" He gestured in disgust at her crappy clothes. "Oh, don't answer that – I know why." The disgust crept into his face, his lip curled in contempt. "Explains your bad posture too. Can't say I blame you, really."

_So, you know the kind of attention I get. The stares, the whistles. The way I have to hide myself away for safety._

The Rules said no rape, they said _you'd better not even think it_ , but she wasn't naive enough to believe it didn't happen. That it couldn't happen to her. This world had not proven itself to be her friend.

He'd made those Rules and they were good... but as she watched Negan take in an eyeful of her 'babies', she wondered where he got off acting so self-righteously about perverts and lechers.

_'...but I can't say I was dragged here...'_

"Those are some damn nice titties," he complimented. "Real fucking nice." He laughed softly. "Your face is so red right now. It's ok...you don't have to be embarrassed." His tone suggested that her shame was absolutely absurd. She supposed it was – when she was here to prostitute herself. The red-tinged sun on her hair – Red Light Special, Stripper under the dance floor lights.

"I'm ok." Her words were as stiff as a board, her breath as airy as a feather. His foot slid off his knee and onto the floor with a -thump- and she jumped. He patted his thigh, beckoning her closer.

Her legs were wood too – two unfeeling stumps. She made her way over, standing uncomfortably between his parted knees.

"Mind if I touch...?"

She shook her head, but still flinched when his hands ran up her sides, calloused thumbs skirting her breasts, before sliding down to rest on her hips. He held her softly, breathing "...Nice. You know...I think I fucking like you. Yeah."

Well, that was promising. It's what she wanted – so why did it suddenly feel like a threat, an ugly prospect of doom?

"So...Sherry DID tell you what life was like as a wife, huh?"

"Yeah. Uh-huh." An involuntary tremor was gripping her body, and he could surely feel it vibrating through his hands. She finally looked at him – really looked – for the first time. She'd never been this close to the Savior Leader. From a distance, he exuded authority and menace with his imposing frame, his sauntering about the foundry with Lucille in hand. A leader who led, who punished, who she never had to deal with and therefore, never formed much of an opinion for. He did his job and kept the place together – that was enough after the chaos of the Outside world.

His features were strong and assured, handsome. There was something amiable about his easy smile, a boyish charm. Compared to Mark, he was certainly more beefcake than reedy boy – and even with his relaxed, slouched posture, she could tell he was going to tower over her once he stood. But she wasn't locked down by his sheer size, she wasn't unsettled by the masculine aroma of leather and woodsmoke. She had tiptoed her way up and down his face, from the smile, to the black brows, gently raised in appraisal – to what lay beneath. Eyes of rich mahogany brown...black coffee with creamer of blood and gold.

They were a predator's eyes, through and through.

"Amber? You gonna answer or what?"

She jolted. Gaze dropping to his chest. "I"m sorry, sir. I didn't hear..."

"Sherry said you had a boyfriend. Bill or something."

"Mark..."

"Yeah. That was it." He shrugged, as if the name meant nothing to him – and she was sure it didn't. "I'm not fucking crazy about taking on another chick with...baggage. I don't know if you were here when Sherry and Dwight," he said the latter's name with clear contempt, "had their little fucking infraction of the Rules, but-"

"I was here."

"Right. So...you know the goddamn Rules. Whatever you have with Mark-O is fucking _over_ now. You got that, right?" He removed his hands, slumping back into the chair, his feral gaze burning her. "I want to know, Amber, if you're prepared for this kind of commitment. I don't want anything less than your fucking devotion. Fuck, I'm not asking for love or any of that bull-fucking-shit...just...some motherfucking respect. I _need_ to be able to _trust_ you."

She opened her mouth, but he was rambling on. "If you aren't, then walk the fuck out and be with Mark. I won't hold it against you. There's plenty of women who'd want to be in your shoes right now."

Nothing about this was ideal, but it was the most feasible way to help Mark. _This is the shit world now, this is the depths you have to sink to survive. To help him live._ She glanced around the room again, seeing the books, the fireplace promising warmth...simple comforts she'd once taken from granted. _No, this is hardly the depths. I can live through this._

"If you are," Negan was _still_ talking, apparently polishing off his welcome speech. "I'll be glad to have you. You'll be safe, well-fed, and given all the best amenities we obtain. Nobody will fuck with you anymore." He snorted a laugh. "Well, except me, I suppose. But seriously. You won't want for anything, and I'll even make sure Mark is well-provided for. You know, like a beneficiary."

She sucked in a breath. Yes. Yes. That was what she wanted to hear.

"So long as you hold up your end of the arrangement."

She had to be sure. "You'll keep him safe too? The other Saviors really pick on him...you'll make them leave him alone? I have to know – is he going to get enough food and medication...everything he needs? He's...fragile."

The Savior Leader – the opposite of fragile – nodded. "Yep. One word from me and his troubles will be gone." His eyes narrowed then, and she felt all the strength leave her bones. He was literally stripping her mind with that look, suspicion instantly turning his face from charming to menacing. "Are you REALLY ready to give him up, Amber? Because you don't fucking sound like it. I'm not going to... Not going through that fucking bullshit again." He hissed an angry breath through his perfect teeth. "I'll call that other chick back in here..the Kid. At least she was enthusiastic."

She hoped that was a joke. For the sake of his testicles, anyway.

She inhaled deeply. Never to kiss Mark again, or touch him? She was... all right with it. She was not all right with walking away and knowing she could've improved his life, even if it was in a way he found contemptible – in a way that she wasn't even sure she was ready for. ' _If you got it, flaunt it. Use your assets. Make due with what you have.'_ Various soundbites flooded her head and she embraced them all. _'I'm going to do it. I'm going to swim to the bottom... for him._

Her hand slid up the leather and zippers of Negan's coat. She rested the other on his thigh, leaning forward with swaying breasts to breathe into his ear, "I'm not gonna break the Rules. I'm ready. If you'll have me."

"Great! That's all I needed to know." His hand tightened on the armrest, his breath huffed in a little deeper. Amber felt flush again – oh dear – she was probably in for it now. She didn't want to go this fast.

Her hand clenched onto the leather lapel, a soft squeak escaping her when his fingers slid up her side again. Her innards seemed to shrink away as fingers crossed the plane of her stomach. The exploring hand now cupped her left breast, the heat of his mouth was on her neck, a soft brush of a kiss. She stood, rigid and awkward, just holding onto his coat.

With a large sigh, he flopped back into the depths of the chair. He was just as flushed as she, and his smile was eager. "You are sweeter than fucking candy, Amber. Amber-fucking-licious. Ok. You are officially fucking hired. Wifey number... Five. I like five, that is a _good_ fucking number. Don't you think?"

"Sure." She wondered what the other women were like. Probably desperate sods like herself. His gaze had slid from her eyes and seemed to settle on her mouth; his eyes darkened. Oh hell. She knew what he wanted – and she wasn't too thrilled at the prospect.

She had to bite back a noise of dissent – she wasn't fond of doing this. Not even with Mark. But fine. Whatever. She sank to her knees, his long legs sprawled around her like a cage. Tentatively, she ran her hands up the worn black denim of his thighs. Lip-gnawing again, she softly rubbed her hand over the junction of his legs, fingers traveling the swelled lump underneath. Oh dear. Flustered, she shivered with an influx of cold and heat. The tremors were back in her skin, and she struggled to unbuckle his belt. This delay was not calming her frenzied butterflies.

His hand suddenly lighted on hers, clasping gently. She startled, wide eyes gazing upward.

"Amber," he said, softly cooing, "It's all right. We don't have to do anything right now."

She eyed him dubiously. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark, clearly hungry.

"...But sir...I want to..." She flinched; Did that sound sincere? She doubted it – but she also doubted he would give a shit.

He rolled his eyes. "Don't call me 'sir'."

"Um...sorry." His hand was still on hers, a heavy weight pressing her palm onto his crotch. She felt the heat radiating, the strange little twitch as his member responded to her presence. Damn, the horny bastard was so full of shit – testing her like this. She slipped her hand out from his grasp, attempting the stubborn buckle again.

"Umm...well...the thing is, Amber..."

She _had_ to look up – now he was talking in a ridiculously shy way, his brown eyes looking all coy. "I uh...don't usually fuck on the first date, you know. I mean, you must think I'm some kind of fucking whore."

"...What?"

He grasped her wrist and tugged upwards. She followed the motion, unfolding to her feet. He held her hips again, fingers softly teasing more shivers from her skin. "Yeah. We only just fucking met, you know? And I've got some shit to do anyway – so why don't you go hang out with Sherry a bit, huh? There'll be plenty of time later to get to know each other." He winked.

She stood, relieved, and hoped this was not last minute judgment. If she left too eagerly, would he be insulted? Should she try harder to force her affections on him? She wished Sherry had given her more information. She was figuring out the _'obnoxious, did I mention obnoxious?'_ part on her own, but deciphering his sincerity and seriousness – or lack of it – was making her head pound.

He frowned and gave her hip a light smack. "Don't just stand there. Get the fuck out."

That was harsh, but it cleared things up. She skittered away and scooped her clothing off the floor. Holding the garments to her bare chest, she hurried towards the door.

"Wait...fucking wait." He let out a low laugh, his voice mild. "Get dressed. I'm not going to make you run out with your titties flapping."

She scowled – her breasts did not _flap_ , thank you very much, but she said nothing. She disappeared back into the comforting and huge depths of her sweater. Feeling calmer, she exited into the sitting room to join Sherry at the fireplace chairs.

"How'd it go?"

"I'm in. I got the spot."

"Great. Lucky you."

"Yeah. Lucky me."


	2. A Nice Day to Start Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan announces to his Saviors that he's taken a new wife, Amber. (contains smut)

"Oh look...everyone's gathered. Awesome... fuckin' awwwwesome!" Negan sang, and Amber cringed, peeking out at the metal catwalk and the Saviors milling about below.

"Can I change my mind? Do I have to do this?"

He gave her a stern look. "Yes, you absolutely have to."

Her shoulders slumped. All this pomp, it was so unnecessary... and she felt like she'd puke. He was watching her the entire time, those mahogany eyes examining every little tremor – and she realized – he liked it, he liked her discomfort, he loved ripping away every semblance of her modesty. For what? – was he sadistic, or did he feel like he was changing her for the better?

She had no room left to ponder it – he reached forward and took her hand in a gentle grip. "You've got nothing to worry about. You look beautiful. And you don't have to say a word."

_Just stand there and look pretty._ Her lips twisted sullenly. _Whatever. Let's just get this ridiculous show over with._

So, shoulders back, head high. She ran a hand through her hair, giving it just the right amount of messy, sexy tousle, and sighed deeply. "Let's go."

He strode out ahead of her, and paused at the edge of the railing. Below, all the Saviors went down to a knee until Negan waved them back up, and then they relaxed, gazing upwards at their leader.

"Greetings, Saviors! As you may have heard, I've added another member to my family," he said cheerfully. "As always, she has come to me with open arms and a willing heart –

_Where does he come up with this shit? -_ Amber thought –

"-and I've gladly accepted her into my home. Allow me to introduce my newest wife, Amber!"

There was some polite clapping, then silence. The Savior Leader talked into the awkward gap, oblivious that Amber was standing in the shadow of the door, nearly invisible. "Isn't she a fine piece of work? Cleans up real nice." He gestured grandly to his left – she wasn't there.

Some of the crowd giggled. Others stared in bemusement. He finally looked back, grinning, but his voice was a low growl. "Hey. Get up here. Don't be shy, baby." She groaned, but came forward, plastering on a fake smile. He pulled her alongside, his heavy arm now draped over her shoulder. "Ha! My apologies! Here she is! She's a shy one, and so sweet...isn't she a peach?"

"Yes, Negan." The simpering crowd cooed in unison. She even heard a few sickening 'awwwws' and 'isn't that so cute.'

_This is so dumb..._

But maybe that's why they did it. It was stupid... Fake. But it was a break from grim reality. _Shit. I've become a celebrity couple. I'm practically tabloid materiel now._

She put her hand up, and they had no idea how much she was mocking them, as she turned it back and forth like a brainless pageant queen. Might as well play into the insanity.

She glanced over to Negan, smiling like a moron.

_I must be insane, after all._

"All right. Can we go?" She whispered.

"Oh. You're horny too?" He rasped back. "Yeah, in a minute."

She wasn't even remotely aroused, but she nodded just to hurry him up. He carried on with some trite about his wives being special to him and he'd take unkindly to any disrespect to them or some nonsense. _No one's stupid enough to mess with your 'property', Negan, you're just showing off now..._ she thought in annoyance, senses diverted to the awful throbbing that had started in her feet. The heels were too tight and high, grinding right into her Achilles's tendon in the most painful manner.

The crowd seemed to be getting restless too, already over the novelty of Negan's newest fuck-toy. And despite their enthusiastic drone to his stupid commentary, she noticed not all of the crowd were smiling. Women shot her venomous looks, either of derision or jealousy. Men stripped off her clothes with their eyes, their leers describing all the sick shit they'd like to do to her. She squirmed uncomfortably, painfully aware of every inch of her bare skin. She hoped nobody could see up the short dress from their low vantage point.

"Thanks for gathering here today, and being a witness as I pledge my devotion to Amber, and accept her vow to do the same."

Amber smiled, unsure of what to do. But Negan merely raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it; so she did the same to his, and that seemed to be acceptable. The ritual – or whatever it was – was finally complete, and everyone could go back to their lives with joyous hearts after witnessing such a beauteous union...

She had to fight laughter, her lips quirking at the corners. The Saviors began to disperse, some still looking at the self-proclaimed newlyweds, but down below... somebody else was attracting attention. People no longer stared up. They had their heads turned to one spot. Whispering and pointing. Looking at someone.

_Go, its time to go,_ her butterflies whispered. _You don't want to look, you don't want to know!_

Negan took her hand, he was starting to leave... she should follow him...

_Don't look, go, follow him. GO!_

She was always so stupid. Even Negan was trying to save her, tugging her arm, urging her into motion, but still... she just HAD to look.

It was impossible, from up here, to tell the eye color of the people below. But she saw his, stunning in their vivid hue, their gentle baby-breath blue. Tears had always come as easily to his eyes as blush came to her cheeks. Unwanted, unbidden, but there nonetheless, revealing the turmoil within. He wept now, twin tracks of wetness down his cheeks and dripping off his chin, much to the amusement and pity of his surrounding peers.

Mark stared up at her and she was locked in place, her body numb. Sound faded out, and it was just the space between their eyes...that was the universe, and it was a world of pain.

_Mark!... oh God... why are you here? Why would you come to this?_

"Come on, Amber," Negan whispered, but she had no legs, she had nothing. If he pulled her, she'd fall over, and she would break into pieces and that was more than she deserved.

Mark's visage was that of a mourner, as if he were attending her wake and not her wedding.

_I did this, I made that look on his face._

"Hey!" A man yelled, breaking through the vacuum of sound. "You gotta kiss the bride!"

Negan paused, turning around to face the crowd. At first, Amber thought he'd refuse. He'd put his mouth nearly everywhere on her, but he'd always avoided her lips.

He flashed his white teeth to the crowd, and slid his hand to the small of her back, dipping her backwards, his head tipped towards hers. She expected a chaste, dry peck, something quick and void of gratuitous display. She jolted in his arms as he went full-tongue, purring hungrily down her throat, his hand sliding her dress up her thigh. She whimpered into his mouth, trying to pull away.

_Is he going to fuck me right here...? Jesus Christ..._

But then he straightened her up and gave a little mock-bow to the catcalling and whistling crowd. "And with that, my dear Saviors," he crooned, "I think it's time for our honeymoon. Ciao."

He took her hand again and pulled insistently. Shaking, she followed him, but her stupid, stupid brain sent a signal to her equally stupid body, and she turned her head back, she got one last eyeful of Mark... dousing herself in the pain like a fanatic flagellating themselves bloody.

And then, mercifully, they were in the back hallways, heading for the stairs to home.

Negan kept her hand in his, swinging his arm and taking big strides. She had to jog to keep up with him, every step shaky and awkward. "Can you slow down?" she panted. "I'm afraid I might turn my ankle."

He glanced down at her feet; slowed his pace. "Oh yeah. Heels." He grinned and stopped suddenly. "Fuck. I am so hard right now. We should fuck right here - up against the wall."

She shook her head, eyes wide. "No way, I can't do that!"

"I know, I know... you're a good girl..." He winked at her.

_No, I'm not..._

Mark's face... his eyes.

In mourning, his mouth down-turned like a baby-

_Oh God, I caused that, I-_

Negan pulled her again, quickening his stride once more, and this time she didn't complain. Focusing on her balance meant less room for his face...

She was further distracted as they reached the top of stairway nine; one level to go before they were home, and Negan hummed a song that was familiar, if slightly out of tune. Her ears burned as he sang out of key, and embarrassingly loud.

**" _Hey little sister, what have you done? Hey little sister, who's your only one? Who's the one you want? Hey, little sister, shotgun!"_**

"Oh my..." Amber tried not to cringe at the melodic butchery, her thoughts sour.

**_"It's a nice day to start again,_ **

**_It's a nice day for a white wedding!""_ **

_It's more of a black wedding..._ She peered down at her little black dress, then at his dark leather. And her mood... midnight cloaking her heart fast. Her throat went tight. Mark's face was burnt into her retinas - every detail, the minute specks in his irises, each tear as an individual, coursing down his cheek. She blinked rapidly to clear it.

_**"It's a nice day to...** _

She had to focus on climbing the last stairway, her sore ankles wobbling dangerously in the godforsaken heels. She wanted to kick them off, never see them again.

_**"...staaaaaart agaaaaaaain!"** _

They approached the door to the Penthouse. Mercifully, Negan ceased the atrocious singing, and she resisted the urge to rub her accosted ears. "Home sweet motherfucking home..."

She caught her breath, shifting in the painful shoes. He turned the knob, then quite abruptly scooped her off her feet. Cradled against his chest, her heart cracked as he kicked the door open and crossed the threshold with her -

-She, the bride and betrayer.

He set her down. Grinning. "Fuck yes. We are official. Isn't that great, wifey?" He grandly pirouetted around the room with her. She followed his movements, boneless and lifeless, and fighting against them-

Sherry rose from the couch, casting her book aside, her eyebrows raised in concern.

"Are we ready to consummate this fucking thing? Cause I know _I_ am!"

He stopped dancing and released her. His eyes followed Sherry's worried gaze. "...Huh?"

Amber folded her arms over her chest, and lost the fight. Her face crumpled and tears spilled, hot diamonds glittering over her ruby cheeks.

"Oh shit..." He took a step back, suddenly afraid to touch her. "Did I hurt you when I picked you up like that? Shit, I kind of jerked you around now that I think about it-"

Sherry's teeth grit and she lashed out, correctly surmising: "She saw her boyfriend out there! You big, clueless _idiot_!"

"Oh..." Ignoring Sherry's insults, he grinned. "Well, all the MORE reason to celebrate. You saw how well-kept and healthy he is, right? He's thriving! Everything is fucking great! Now...let's DO this shit." He had only one thing on his mind; he hadn't lied about that anticipatory bulge in his jeans.

"Jesus Christ, Negan, grow a fucking brain!" Sherry was hot now, her arms gesticulating wildly. "Or some empathy. _Anything_ for God's sake! Do you really think she wants to be with you right now?!"

Amber felt, rather than heard, the growl rumble through his massive frame. Quickly, she grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the bedroom, all her strength tugging at his heavy weight.

"No, it's all right, Sherry, I'm good. Really." Her free hand scrubbed at the wet tracks. "It just threw me off."

Sherry's mouth was a thin line of disapproval, but she sat back down, and the tension left his body; he followed Amber's lead into his bedroom.

She shut and latched the door, kicked off the hateful shoes. _Time for our honeymoon...how romantic... maybe we should have wine first..._ A dry laugh escaped her and her eyes burned.

"Hey," said Negan, in his version of a comforting voice, "Forget about him." He pulled her against him, his leather and zippers and hardness pressing into her. "You're mine now..."

"Yeah..." She bit back a sob, her eyelashes still wet.

"Awww..." One finger gently traced her wet cheek. "You're breaking my heart with these tears, babe." He lifted her up, arms under her butt, carrying her to the window side table. He set her on the edge. "Cheer up... I'll make you feel better." His smile was soft, but his eyes were dark, his breathing heavy. He was biting back his lust, but she felt it crackling, a static field around him.

She said nothing, but it didn't deter him. Shivers in her skin, his hands crawling up her thighs, pushing up her skirt. He knelt before her, pulling down her panties, working with mouth and fingers to coax arousal from her. She leaned back, putting a hand behind her for balance,her thighs parting. "Oh..." she said... because it felt good, and more importantly -

It hazed her thoughts... Mark's face was there, but fading.

_He was crying, yeah... but what else did you see...?_

She forced herself, through the fog, to focus on the details beyond the tears. Under those salty trails, were his cheeks... and they were no longer hollow from hunger. He was eating better.

Her mouth trembled in a soundless moan; she clenched her legs around his shoulders, rocked herself into the sensation of warm, worshiping tongue and lips...

Mark's arms, slung around his torso, like he was trying to hold his heart in -

The shirt covering that chest was new. His pants were new, even his shoes? He was clean. He was shaven.

_I did it._

Hubby's valiant efforts were paying off ...flush covered her, the slow ooze of warmth blossomed between her legs. Her breathing was quickening, her heart thumping.

_I'm keeping him safe. Healthy, fed... I'm doing what I wanted! He's alive! That's what this is all for – FOR THAT. FOR HIM._

And so, she had to continue it... she had to keep it going, because Mark's heart did not know what was good for his body.

_Just keep thinking that... keep thinking that you're doing a GOOD thing._

Her hand settled on soft black hair. She tugged gently, urging him upwards, She, now wet enough to accommodate the 'consummation.' Negan stood, his hands sliding to her hips, his breathing hard. She felt her own moisture on his fingers, pressing into her skin.

_I gotta survive too. I have to forget him. I have to... erase him._

She stared into the dark, coffee-brown eyes, more predatory than ever in their lust. He was struggling to hold back, she could feel his impatience trembling thorough his hands. She reached forward, unbuckling his belt, undoing his pants. Steady as a rock, no nervous tremors like the first time. Because her survival depended on this, becoming mindless, getting lost.

"How do you want it, wifey?" Negan asked. "Slow and romantic? Or 'fuck-me-now' rough?" He started pulling at her dress, fingers fumbling with the tiny spaghetti straps. He was going to rip it if he wasn't careful – she could care less if he did.

_Get this fucking thing off me. Burn it. Burn my wedding dress._

A cheap, trampy black dress. That had been her bridal legacy. She hadn't even gotten to throw a bouquet. She'd have to toss her panties over her shoulder instead.

She was losing the battle again...Mark was there still and he was so ashamed of her – and she wasn't a fucking saint, she was a sinner, and how could she pretend anything else -

_Give it a rest – it's not like this 'wedding' is real... It's not like it means anything._

Mark's face – his eyes, round blue infinity pools, brimming with sorrow – he'd loved her for so long and she'd done this to him -

_No. Because you're not a bride. You're just a whore._

She'd thrown it right in his face, waving like a moron up there on the catwalk. Rubbed his nose in all the notions: _You weren't strong enough, Mark. You couldn't provide for me. I have to do it all. I have to even let this motherfucker into my body just so your sorry ass has a chance at life. But you know, maybe I like him inside me._

She pushed apart the undone fly of his jeans, pushed down on the boxers (a cheerful red plaid today), pushed until like a rabbit springing from a hat, his dick popped free. _Jack in the box. No... boner in the box._ A laugh fled her, and it helped, it fought back the darkness just a little.

She clenched her hand around him, low, down by the balls, and slid it in a tight grip all the way up to the head. And down again, up. Rough. Insistent. He shivered and moaned, as she answered his question with strokes, confirmed it again with words.

She did not deserve romance. Nor the slow gyration of hips, sweet nothings, candlelight.

_Whore. Slut._

Mark, despite his hurt, would try to soften the blow. He'd call her an _escort._ Maybe a _call girl._ Perhaps a _concubine._

"Not romantic. I want it rough," she said. "Fuck me against the wall, like you said. I want that - "

He drew in a breath and nodded, like he couldn't be trusted with words now... all that would escape him would be an animalistic growl or long, unending streams of profanity.

He lifted her from the table and took her to the wall, kicking his discarded clothes from yesterday out of the way. His hands, clumsy from desire, tried to shimmy her dress up, desperate to get it off her.

"Just rip it off," she said. "You know you want to-"

"Fuck yes..." he said, teeth gleaming. "You are reading my fucking mind, girl..." Well, what do you know...he could talk after all. She should've never doubted the abilities of a practiced blabber-mouth. And though she was expecting it, she still gasped as he tore the dress away with one brutal motion and threw it down. His hands caught the side of her panties and ripped those too, the cloth biting into her hip and then tearing into a long strip of wet lace.

_Come on, you asshole, fuck his face right out of me... make me forget... make me fucking forget..._

He shed his coat and jeans and everything in the fastest strip-tease ever, throwing it all to the side, and pushing her hard to the wall, hoisting her upwards. She wrapped her legs around his hips and begged him,

"Inside me...now... do it... do it."

It was going to hurt, and that was good, that was fine...

She was looking forward to the pain.


	3. Outpost Johnny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan's wife Nova tells Amber of a time she snuck along on a supply run. (contains mild violence)
> 
> A lil about Nova. She is Negan's bratty, youngest wife. Slobby and childish, she often clashes with Sherry (whom she mockingly calls 'Saint Sherry' and Amber (whom she refers to as 'Old Bessie' and 'Moo Cow' due to Amber's large boobs). But she's not a bad girl, way deep down ;)

" _Let me tell you a little about Johnny," Nova said. "Johnny was a useless bastard who couldn't keep his hands to himself..."_

Everyone knew Johnny was Outpost fodder. Either that, or a lip-puckering candidate for the Kiss of Lucille. And to some, the former was worse than the latter. Johnny-boy had the frat-boy mentality of college; the guy who thinks women exist for his pleasure, and that there's no greater sin than walking by a woman without grabbing her ass. After all, it's just sticking out there, right? Word had been getting around Sanctuary about his wandering hands. Nobody fretted that much. Everyone knew he wasn't going to last long.

" _So that morning, Negan was going to go with a couple of guys on a run. And it was just a small run, like to go see a few of the smaller groups – not the big ones like the Hilltop...so it was pretty safe, I'm sure. I asked Negan if I could go... but he said no. Like always." The girl pouted. Amber didn't understand the urge to leave Sanctuary...she'd had enough of the outside world. Death and Walkers and hunger...? Screw that. Nova smiled deviously. "Well, I wasn't gonna take no for an answer. I snuck out when Negan was eating and I got downstairs and outside as fast as I could. It was fun. Like I was a spy or something..."_

* * *

 

That morning, Nova was a naughty little girl. Negan had barred her from accompanying him on a supply run once again. His excuses maddened her: 'It's too dangerous'. 'I don't want to expose my girls to the ugly shit I have to do out there'.

"What a bunch of crap..." She muttered.

And so, she was here. Outside Sanctuary, creeping closer to an idling pick-up truck. Dwight was sitting behind the wheel, and a weedy looking guy carrying a golf club slid into the passenger side. She saw Dwight turn his head, talk to the kid. She narrowed her eyes, the James Bond theme on repeat in her head.

Dwight's head looked forward again; so did the guy's. 'Now!' She scuttled forward, keeping low. She reached the tailgate of the truck, but knew climbing in would alert them to her presence. She hefted a large rock in her hand, and hurled it at a nearby group of Walkers who were piked and woven into the chain links of the fence.

They made a horrific racket of snarls and moans, rattling the fence and flailing their arms. Dwight and the kid were suitably distracted – looking over at the distressed Dead, and Nova quickly made her way into the truck's bed, wiggling herself under a heavy, smelly tarp. Ugh. It smelled like death. They had brought home dead deer and pigs and all manner of gross shit on this thing.

But the smell of death was nothing new anymore.

If Dwight and the guy had felt her stow-away entrance, they had no time to investigate. She heard crunching footsteps.

"Hey boss," she heard Dwight say. "We heading to the Farmer's place first?"

"Yep," she heard Negan say, and then, "Move the fuck over, kid, I'm not sitting in the goddamn middle."

"Uh, sure. So, we're gonna go shake down some farmers?"

"Shake down? I would hardly say that. It's just a friendly exchange of goods and services, wouldn't you say, Dwight?"

Dwight muttered an affirmative. The truck revved and began to roll. Nova grinned under the tarp, then gagged. Yuck. Stinky.

She was on her way out of Sanctuary! Onwards to adventure! Once the truck got underway, she wiggled out from under the tarp and lay atop it, careful not to sit up. She could hear the men talking in the cab, just bits and snippets of muttered conversation. At some point, Johnny introduced himself to a less-than-interested Negan.

The weather was warm, the sky endless blue. She grimaced over the bumps and jolts, laying on her back, looking up at the passing sky and trees. In the cab, the men put on a CD, a mix of classic rock. She hummed along to Aerosmith's 'Dream On', tapped her foot to 'American Woman.'

At the next song, Negan sang along enthusiastically; Nova grinned and giggled – ole Neegs wasn't the best vocalist. " _Some people call me the Space Cowboy_ ," he crooned. " _Some call me the Gangster of Love."_

They turned onto a slightly smoother road, occasionally having to veer roughly off-road to avoid long-stranded vehicles blocking the path.

She risked a peek into the cab, watching his leather-gloved hand wave around to the beat. Johnny was wedged between Dwight and Negan, and he had one hand to his ear, attempting to block out the Savior Leader's atrocious singing.

" _You're the cutest thing that I ever did see. Really love your peaches, want to shake your tree. Lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey all the tiiiiiime –_ OH! Hold up! Stop the truck!"

"Can't we just go around them?" Dwight slowed but didn't stop.

"Nah. I wanna have some fucking fun!" Negan smacked Dwight on the shoulder, and the tattooed man groaned, but obeyed. The pick-up lurched to a halt.

"That's a lot of them!" Johnny whined. "Are you sure...?"

"Grow some hair on your fucking balls," Negan scoffed, sliding out of the truck with Lucille in hand. Nova squinted through the windshield, finally seeing their opponent. There was a clutch of walkers, fifteen at the least.

Dwight cut the ignition, grumbling as he stepped out with a machete in one hand, his crossbow in the other.

"Oh shit.." Johnny said, alone in the cab. "Oh crap." He shook his head and exited, gripping his golf club in trembling hands.

"Nice stick, kid," Negan teased from outside. He charged into the Walkers with homicidal glee, swinging Lucille left and right. Dwight's bolts flew with deadly precision, his machete slicing all who got too close.

Johnny hung back, killing stray walkers, but mostly watching.

' _What a wimp,_ ' thought Nova. She checked the backside of the truck carefully for the undead enemy, then clambered over the tailgate while the men were distracted. She crouched alongside the vehicle, stealthily observing the fight.

* * *

 

_Nova danced the room, emulating Negan's skull-shattering swings with both arms. "Bam! Smash! Man, Amber, he looked so sexy taking out those fucking things!"_

" _Uh huh." The thought of Negan breaking heads wasn't quite as arousing to her._

* * *

 

He kicked a walker away with one foot, sending the undead human faltering backwards. Pivoting around, he crushed another sneaking up from the left. It fell limply, black liquid seeping from the decimated skull. The kicked walker lurched forward again, its rotten hand clawing out. Lucille struck its temple, hard, and the head separated from neck with a spray of gore. Flying towards the woods, the skull smashed against a tree with a satisfyingly wet -splat-!

"Fuck yeah!" He whooped. Panting, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Goddamn, that never gets old."

Fallen corpses littered the ground around them and the three men stood quietly for a minute, listening for the sounds of more. Johnny broke the quiet with a chuckle. "Uh yah. That was really fun!" His nine iron was dripping black blood; he grimaced and wiped it on the grass.

Nova scrambled to hide as Johnny and Negan migrated to the truck; Dwight staying in the field to retrieve his crossbow bolts.

She smelled cigarette...must be Johnny. Negan didn't smoke, said that shit was 'fucking stupid'.

She looked cautiously left and right, twisting around to look behind. She heard no telltale groans or shuffling. The area was Dead-free for the moment.

She crept around the back of the truck, keeping low to the ground. Negan was standing the closest to her by the rear wheel of the vehicle. He casually leaned against the side, rocking on his feet slightly (and in turn, rocking the truck) He was turned away, eyes on his companions. From her low vantage point, she saw Dwight rejoin the group. He'd lit a cigarette too, puffing long drags from it like a man starved.

"Shit..." Negan drawled. "I've got this fucking song stuck in my head. It's from that band, Journey. You heard of them, right? You know, maybe it was just the singer, like after he went fucking solo."

Johnny piped up. "Uh, Steve Perry!"

"Yeah! That's the fucking guy."

Negan began to croon, leaning towards Dwight like he was serenading him. "' _Oh Sherry, our love holds on, hold on! Oh Sherry!_ ' Hey Dwight, remember that fucking song?"

Dwight took a long drag, his eyes fixed steadily on a large straggly pine. "Yeah. I remember it."

" _Oh Sherry, fuckin' you, so hard, so haaaaard!_ _ **'**_ " Negan's falsetto was cringe-worthy. Dwight flinched, but for reasons other than auditory pain.

"That's not how it goes," said Johnny, looking at Negan like he was stupid. Dwight was sucking the last dregs of the cig; he threw it down and ground it viciously under his boot.

"No? I swore that's how it went..."

"Not even close, man. Those are some seriously misheard lyrics, dude. Are you deaf or something? You sing like shit too."

Johnny was really braiding his own noose. Dwight looked sidelong at him, his lidless eye bulging out more than ever, his unmarked eye wide too. But he kept silent, digging another cigarette out of his pocket.

Negan merely grinned. "Well, get this, Johnny...'Sherry' is actually my wife's name."

Johnny brightened in understanding, returning the smarmy smile. "Oh. Ok. I get it now."

"And she's a fine piece of work." Negan leaned his head back and sighed. "Sea-green eyes, body like an hourglass. Tits like you wouldn't believe."

Dwight's teeth gnashed and he moved away to sit on the truck's hood.

Johnny watched him for a moment, then grinned. "Heh. That guy is totally jealous."

"Oh..." Negan's smile was evil incarnate. "You have _no_ fucking idea."

Nova rolled her eyes. Poor Dwight! Time to spare him from this torment. And more importantly, to announce her glorious presence!

* * *

 

" _It wasn't my smartest move," said Nova sheepishly. "I guess I thought he'd hear my voice and know it was me. Like...I forgot he was still probably hyped up from killing Walkers and stuff."_

* * *

 

Nova sprang out from behind the truck, crying "Oh, Neegsy!"

He whipped around at the sudden sound, Lucille following him.

"No, NO!" The bat was hurtling at her with lethal force. Her reflexes jolted her backwards. Strands of her hair went forwards in a rush; Lucille slashed through them with a vicious whoosh of air, one of her deadly barbs passing by a mere inch from Nova's nose. "Oh shit, oh shit... it's ME!"

She cringed, arms flying up over her face. His teeth were bared in a snarl, eyes fierce and wide. The bat halted at the end of the swing, hovering, barbs bristling. His mouth dropped, he lowered Lucille. She was safe from the physical beating, but not the verbal.

"GOD DAMN IT! NOVA?! What the fucking fuck are you doing here!?" The snarl deepened; he lunged forward and grabbed her arm in a bruising grip, giving her a rough shake. "I almost fucking killed you!"

"OW!" She kicked him in the shin, and he let go. "I wanted to get out! I never get to go anywhere!" Her voice rose in a childish wail. "You NEVER bring me with you!"

Dwight puffed his cigarette impassively. But Johnny was taking in a long, lusty eyeful. Her expanse of bare legs in tiny jean shorts, her breasts straining against a tight, hooded tank top.

"Hot damn." Johnny moved backwards towards Dwight. He nudged the man's leg with his elbow. "Who's this little bimbo?" He was pitching a tent, still staring. "Look at those legs! Whoa!"

"Chill the fuck out." Dwight kicked him, and Johnny moved away indignantly. The burnt-faced man ignored him, applying more eye drops from his bottle. His eye was watering like crazy and the cigarette smoke was doing it no favors.

"You can get your ass back in the truck and fucking stay there," Negan was scolding. "Until we get home!"

"NO!" Nova stamped her foot with all the ardor of a five-year old.

Negan groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, and Dwight couldn't help but smirk. He slid off the hood and ground out the second cigarette. "Great. Now we're stuck babysitting."

Johnny grinned. "I'll sit that baby... right on my lap!"

Nova's petulant look turned sultry. She flipped her hair back, a hard sway to her hips as she strode up to Negan, sliding her hand up his chest. "Ohhh, you're mad...but I can make you happy, big boy." She looked up through thick eyelashes, her tongue tracing her lower lip slowly. "Hmmm? You want me to suck your dick, honey? Would that cheer you up?"

Johnny's mouth was gaping and Dwight grunted in disgust. "Ugh. Please, Lord. I don't even fucking pray, but I'm praying I don't have to see that." He turned away from the sordid scene. But to his relief, Negan refused the invitation.

"While that is motherfucking tempting, I'm going to have to pass for now. How about a rain-check on that shit? Maybe on the way back."

She laid her head onto his chest, her hand rubbing along his thigh. "Are you suuuure?

"Yep." He patted her on the head and strode towards the truck, Lucille slung over his shoulder.

"Well...do I still have to ride in the back?" She skipped along behind him.

"Nah." His anger burned off faster than morning fog. He resumed his position on the truck, leaning Lucille alongside.

"Hey." Johnny's eyes were still fixated on the young wife. "If you're giving out free blowies, I'll take one, honey!"

Nova's lip curled. "Ugh. Fuck you."

Negan gave her a harsh look, then grinned over at the kid. "You know what? Johnny-boy...you did a really fucking impressive job killing these undead fucks. You've got some fucking moves with that thing." He indicated the golf club laying on the ground.

Johnny smiled. "Oh thanks, man. It was my old man's, actually, but I never liked golf...it's kind of fucking gay, but-"

"Yeah. Whatever." Negan waved off his reminiscing impatiently. "Thing is, I think you deserve a reward. I like to reward good work." He reached over and took Nova's arm, pulling her roughly alongside him. She yelped in protest. "Sweetie, why don't you go suck him off, huh?"

"What..?" She stared up at Negan in disbelief. "No..I'm not gonna do that."

Johnny was nodding like a moron, exclaiming, "Oh hell yes!"

Dwight opened his mouth as Negan pushed her towards Johnny. The kid subsequently pushed her down onto her knees, despite her attempts to resist. The scarred-face man promptly shut his trap, however, as he witnessed Negan's grin spreading out wide and malicious.

Johnny reached down towards his zipper, leering at Nova. She stared up at him, then over at Negan, her eyebrows sky-high in concern. "This is so great, I knew I'd like this group! We even get our own supply of whores on the road!"

"Yeah." Negan sidled closer, arms casually held behind his back. "But before you get started, there's something I need to tell you."

The motion was fast as a striking rattlesnake. One moment Johnny was standing with a dopey grin, the next he was two feet off the ground. Nova quickly stood, skittering backwards to avoid Johnny's kicking feet. She laughed as Negan's hand clenched around his throat, and the bigger man throttled him mercilessly.

Negan stepped towards the truck and casually slammed the man against it, holding the air-starved Johnny there. He smiled, gentle as a lamb, pure fluff, as a dark spot appeared on the front of Johnny's trousers.

Dwight impassively puffed his cigarette, while Nova leaned on the truck with one arm, her hips jutted out. So cute and sensual, a slight smile on her lips. This was fun to watch, but she'd have to make sure Negan didn't go _too_ far.

* * *

 

" _Yeah, I mean, he just choked the shit out of him!" Nova was victimizing a throw pillow, both hands squeezing it and roughly shaking, her teeth clenched in a psychotic smile. "Oh my God! It was like he was a rag doll! You should've seen it, Amber!"_

_Amber cringed. "Uh...Nova? Please tell me he didn't kill that guy." She didn't want to hear the rest; the violence did not endear her. But Nova thought differently. Her man_ fought _for her, her man_ killed _for her. Her man was a psychopath with a heart of gold._

" _Nah! He's still alive. But hey, so then he tells this Johnny fuck-up... he says to him:"_

* * *

 

"Number One, Johnny. I've met some stupid-ass fuckers in my life, and you're nearly at the top of the list. Congratu-fucking-lations. That's actually pretty impressive." Negan's demeanor remained unruffled, as calm and sweet as a spring afternoon. He smiled up at Johnny, pressed there against the warm red paint of the truck.

Johnny thrashed weakly, clawing ineffectively at Negan's arm, nails no match for the thick leather. His face was the color of a plum. Blood-vessels bursting - the whites of his tear-streaming eyes flooded with red.

Negan loosened his grip, just enough for Johnny to wheeze thin gasps of air. "Number two. My _wife_ is not a whore."

The kid's eyes flitted to Nova and back to Negan. He shook his head, a horribly choked apology spraying from his mouth. Negan calmly wiped a drop of spittle from his cheek. " _None_ of my girls are whores. And if I have the inkling that even your filthy fucking _thoughts_ are touching them...well.." Johnny whimpered pitifully, a sound that was cut off as he was throttled again, slammed several times against the truck side. "You'll find my hand around your throat again, and this time I _won't_ fucking stop."

Before unconsciousness could take him, the grip was loosened, and Johnny sucked the air in desperate gasps. "Number Three. Your lucky number, Johnny-boy. I'm a forgiving man. I give second chances. Most of the time. And you can't help it that you're fucking stupid. So let me help you." The hand choked again. Johnny's eyes rolled upward, his teeth clenched in agony. "Improve yourself, man. Think before you speak. Hmm? Use your _brain_ instead of your _head_. Get it?"

Johnny's head jerked in a semblance of a nod.

Negan's hand snapped open, depositing the trembling, gasping kid at his feet. "Furthermore, I don't want any more of these sordid tales I keep fucking hearing about. You know the ones. Your little shenanigans around Sanctuary?" He casually kicked Johnny onto his side, leaning down to smile in the kid's purple face. "Your hand all over women's asses? Unwanted solicitations and harassment? Yeah. That shit is gonna stop. Otherwise – you know. My hand, your throat."

He straightened up, eyes squinted cheerfully. "Or...if I'm feeling generous again – _it could happen_ \- I might just send you to the Outposts. You wouldn't like the Outposts, kid. Some of the men out there...well...let's just say your ass would never be the same."


	4. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amber has a bad dream. Very short excerpt. (contains walker-type violence)

Negan's bed was the most comfortable thing she'd slept on in a long time. It was a far cry from the wilderness, and a farther distance from the hard cot she'd possessed down in the lower levels of Sanctuary.

The fire burned low in the fireplace, and his arms were warm around her. He woke after a while and released her, rolling onto his side and slipping right back into slumber without a hitch.

She curled up on her own side of the bed, eyelids heavy. Her body was relaxed and lazy, she was safe, everything was fine, fine....

 

Not fine. She was in the dreamworld now, and she was back in time, dreaming of the past, in a place far removed from warm, soft beds.

Two bullets.

That was the amount they had to save. No matter how many Walkers came at them. No matter if they were backed into a corner.

Two bullets, one for his brain, one for hers.

The top of the semi truck wasn't the warmest spot in Virginia, nor the most comfortable. But in the dwindling twilight of crashed cars and shadowed buildings, it was the safest they were going to get.

Mark laid fetal-style, eyes shut. His breathing was a raspy wheeze. It sounded so like the Walkers that she shivered with every exhale he took. Amber had first watch, but she knew, sleeping or awake, she'd see the same thing.

She checked their pistol. Five bullets. No, three. They had to save two. They hadn't used any today. They could have, but they didn't. They ran instead. Mark had to use his inhaler. Just like their bullets, the amount of medicated puffs was rapidly dwindling.

She closed her eyes. Yes, she still saw it. She opened them.

Earlier that day, they had met a man. He had the fool idea that the White House was still up and running, that there was sure to be shelter there. And while he wildly insisted, his voice a shout, he'd drawn an unwanted crowd. Amber and Mark desperately hissed for him to quiet, but it was too late. The Walkers were there, and it was run or be devoured. There was too many to use their five bullets...way too fucking many.

So when the tide of teeth came for the man, and pulled him under, the water churning red... they couldn't waste their bullets. He screamed and thrashed, begging for their help... and they turned, ran, with the gun flashing silver in Mark's hand.

The Walkers had gotten the man's arm first, and pulled him back by it, each of the decaying beast latching their teeth in. Ripping off clothes, flesh, tendons, all in a bloody spray. And then his arm ripped off, and he was momentarily free, but not every Walker had gotten a piece, and they were mighty annoyed. They got their hands around his ribcage and dug in, and when Amber chanced a glance back, a sick, horrid sort of relief passed her...because one was going for his screaming throat, finally putting a stop to the shrieks and sobs.

But they got away, and that was good, and they had five bullets still,

_No, three,_

And that was even better.

As post-apocalyptic days went, this one wasn't so bad.

But she shivered as Mark's breath choked and wheezed, and she couldn't stop the replay in her brain. The man today was just one scene in an endless snuff film.

_It will only stop... when_ I _stop._

She closed the gun's chamber, and held it in both hands. In the moonlight, it glowed. It looked so damn pretty. The weight was heavy, and the grip felt good in her hand. She put the safety on. She put the barrel to her head.

Mom would say 'suicide is a sin'...and she used to think so. It seemed a moot point now. Hell wasn't fire, it wasn't within the Earth. It was right here. Your brethren eating you alive. It was rotting skin, ripe with maggots and stink, still moving, still coming after you. It was watching a man die horribly and thinking even so, that maybe _he_ was the lucky one, because he was out of it now.

She pointed the gun at Mark's heart...then shifted it upwards. _It has to be the head._ Her lip trembled...she mimed cocking back the hammer. He might have to shoot her first, if they got to that point. Because she wasn't sure she could do it.

_Hell isn't there, it's_ here _...and maybe dying is the only way out._

_..._

She jerked awake with a harsh cry. Her skin was clammy with sweat and she shuddered hard. Yanking the blankets up around her chin, her breath loud and gasping.

Something moved beside her and she jerked sideways, pulling the blankets with her. Her pillow was knocked to the floor with a soft thump.

"What the fuck?" The something said.

Her breath blew out, shuddering in relief. She turned her head. Negan rolled over to face her, but the window-pane shadow fell across his eyes. She could only see his lips and teeth... teeth... incisors and molars that could tear her flesh...

They were too white and impeccable to be that of the Dead.

"Bad dream," she whispered. She leaned over to retrieve the pillow. He grunted and yanked the blankets back onto his side. Her skin was exposed to air...colder than ever, she quickly nestled under the covers. She wanted to curl up against him...to calm her heart, feel his heat.

He rolled back over, apparently not interested in comforting her. She eyed the back of his head...his black hair almost made him look headless, blending so seamlessly into the pitch dark of the room.

"Negan..." She whispered. "Do you ever have nightmares...?"

"No." The word was abrupt, almost clipped. "Go back to sleep."

"...I thought everyone did now." She closed her lids, feeling the moisture coating her eyelashes. Tears squeezed through, cold as nitrogen droplets.

"...go to sleep. I'm not discussing my fucking dreams with you." He sounded increasingly irate, and she quieted.

Curling her arms around herself. A lonely embrace. More tears, wetting the pillow, washing her back into the realm of Morpheus...but blessedly...her mind traveled dreamless through the rest of the night.


	5. Chocolate Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nova shares hot chocolate with Amber.

Amber wondered at the girl... wearing just a blue negligee, with more skin showing than not. She was completely at ease with herself. Her long wavy tresses fell over the rise of her breast.

She also bore a smile, and two cups of a steaming beverage.

"I made cocoa. Do you like cocoa?"

"Yeah." Amber tentatively smiled, reaching out for the offered cup.

"I even added some real chocolate to it," Nova said. "I had a few pieces left from the other day."

"Oh. Nice." Amber relaxed, staring down at the brown liquid. "Gosh, I haven't had chocolate in forever..."

"Yeah. We don't get it much."

"I remember...when I was out there... Mark and me found a huge bag of gummy worms in a drugstore. They were all kind of melted together, but we ate the whole bag in one sitting." She laughed. "We weren't feeling too good later."

"No?" Nova's smile had a weird edge, but it was gone as she pursed her lips and gently blew into her cup. She sat in the chair by the fireplace, crossing one bare leg over the other.

Amber cooled off her own cup and took a wary sip. Nova smiled and sipped her own.

"Still pretty hot." The long-haired girl set her cup on the table and leaned back.

There was a bit of quiet for a while, and Amber felt vaguely uncomfortable... she always was in situations like this. Her mind struggled for conversation starters, but they all sounded banal, and she rejected them before they could leave her lips.

Finally, she sipped the cocoa again, and it was cool enough to take a long drag. Nova watched her intently.

Amber smiled and nodded. "Yum," she said.

The girl returned the grin. "Glad you like it. The other girls say I make the best cocoa."

Amber took another drink and let the chocolatey goodness sit in her mouth before swallowing. There was a faint bitter aftertaste, but the sweetness was so good that she ignored it.

"So.." Nova smacked her lips and set her cup down. She switched positions on the chair, drawing her legs up onto the seat, shamelessly flashing her panties as she did so. "Have you fucked him yet?"

The cocoa didn't go down right and Amber coughed harshly several times. She wiped her mouth, feeling the warmth creep into her cheeks. "Umm..." She coughed again; this time from anxiety. "I'm not... comfortable talking about that."

Nova frowned. "Why not? That's what you're here for, isn't it? To spread your legs for him?"

"I wouldn't put it like that..." Amber bit her lip; Nova was suddenly radiating hostility. It confused her... and she set down the cup, suddenly struck with the thought that it could be poisoned. _That's crazy. Nobody would do that._

"Yeah, I should rephrase that. To be his little slut, is what I should've said."

A hard scowl curled Amber's lip. _Where the fuck does she get off calling_ me _a slut when she's doing the same damn thing?"_

She stood up and retreated into the bedroom, praying Nova wouldn't follow her... she couldn't deal with this... she never could, always backing down from confrontation whenever possible.

"I wouldn't go far," Nova called after, a wicked laugh peppering her words.

She didn't know what Nova meant, and didn't care. Laying on her bed, pulling the sheets over her head to form a safety cocoon, to keep out jealous young wives and the glaring light from the windows.

She laid there, her belly giving an occasional gurgle, but otherwise, wrapped in silence. After a while the front door opened and shut, but she heard no one. Nova must have left. She considered getting up, but her body was -

Another gurgle. A sudden clench of pain in her abdomen and OH!

She was up and running to the bathroom, all sleepiness forgotten. Ripping down her shorts and underwear, planting her butt on the toilet just in time. The twisting, cruel hand of cramping clutching her bowels, so intense it went up her spine and into her legs. She whimpered and bent double, arms clasping her belly. And a horrible, startling rush

Oh shit, I've got the fucking shits -

splashed the bowl.

After a few minutes, she sighed, wiped and flushed, grateful for the gravity feed toilets in this place. She stood and filled the toilet tank with the water bucket from the floor and began to step towards the door .

And then -

Oh no, oh no... not again...

She was back on the toilet again.

And again.

And again.

* * *

"Where's Amber?" Sherry asked, dishing out bowls of vegetable stew. Jazzi shrugged and dug into her bowl as soon as Sherry set it before her. Nova was leaning her chair back onto the back legs, her feet on the table, displaying her panties to the entire room.

"Get your feet down. Now." Sherry glared and finished distributing the bowls. Negan was absent, off doing 'important work', no doubt, and Shanda had already taken her bowl to the roof to enjoy the sunset and gorgeous evening breeze.

Nova stuck out her tongue and let the chair thunk back down. "Moo Cow is busy making milk. Or hey, maybe Negan's 'milking' her right now."

"' _Moo Cow_?'" Sherry raised an irritated eyebrow. "I don't think I like that term, Nova. You better not call her that again."

"Or what, 'Mommy'? You gonna spank me? I could call her a lot worse."

"She's in bed," Jazzi said. "She said she wasn't feeling good."

"Now you tell me," Sherry sighed and rubbed her temples. She sometimes felt like a full-time mom raising unruly children. "I'm gonna go check on her."

"Good. More food for us..." Nova grinned, and Sherry shot her another filthy look, just daring her to eat her portion. Nova was rebellious, but she wasn't _that_ reckless.

Amber was curled in bed, with her sheets pulled up to her chin. Her face looked pale and clammy.

"Hey," Sherry said softly. "Are you ok? You look really sick."

"I'm ok," The blond said, smiling weakly. "I'm fine..."

"I'm gonna get Wells," Sherry said. Wells was their general doctor... their most competent one, anyway.

"No, no..." Amber shook her head and wiped her sweaty forehead. "I feel better than I did... whatever it is...it's going away, I think." She winced and moaned softly.

Sherry was not convinced. "What was it?"

"Maybe something I ate," Amber said, "I just got... um... well..." A bit of color came into her ghostly face. "...diarrhea, and like... awful cramps."

Sherry frowned. "What did you eat? None of us are sick..."

"Or something I drank..." Amber squeezed her eyes closed and pulled the covers further up onto her face, so just her eyebrows and crown showed. "I'm ok... I'm getting better. Really."

"I'll make you some peppermint tea. It'll help your stomach."

Amber shrugged from under the blanket.

In the kitchen, Sherry prepared the tea-kettle and set it on the camp stove, fishing the minty tea from the cupboard. Waiting for the water, she stood and ate bites of her stew. She eyed the sink, which they filled with a bucket daily in order to wash dishes. There were two dirty mugs there, both containing a brown residue on the bottom.

There were only two people in the Penthouse who didn't wash their own dishes. Negan ("That's what I have you for," he'd say, obnoxiously) and Nova ("I'm not gonna wash them, they can sit and mold for all I care.").

Sherry pivoted around slowly and fixed her eyes on Nova.

"Take a fucking picture." Nova opened her mouth wide to display the chewed food within.

Sherry ignored the juvenile behavior, her hands finding their place on her hips... the handhold she needed when the rage started bubbling up. "What did you do to her? What did you put in her fucking drink, Nova?!"

"What?!" Nova swallowed, shooting back an indignant glare. "What are you talk-"

"Don't play innocent with me!" Sherry's voice rose to a shriek. "I KNOW you did something! You've been fucking jealous the second she walked in the door! Who the fuck else would do anything?"

"She's just got a stomach bug," Nova protested. Now she was putting on her sweet little-girl face. Violet eyes wide. Soon she'd been twirling her tresses around one finger. Negan might fall for this shit, but Sherry was immune. "It's not fair that you accuse me of crap, Sherry!"

"You could've hurt her," Sherry said, her voice dropping. "It's not like we can just bring her to a hospital or call an ambulance... you don't play goddamn games with someone's health. Not now. Not anymore."

"I. Didn't. DO. Anything." Nova angrily picked up her spoon, scraping it into her bowl. "And you can't fucking prove _anything_."

They hardly had a laboratory for Sherry to test the mug's contents, and she was sure Nova wasn't dumb enough to leave the evidence. She suspected laxatives in the drink...simple and easy cruelty.

"Maybe not," she conceded. "But nothing like this better happen again. If you have an issue with Amber, take it up with your darling _Neegsy-poo_. _He's_ the one who brought her in, just you remember that."

* * *

After tending to Amber, washing dishes and grumbling about Negan's late arrival home, Sherry finally headed for bed. The girls were all in the communal bedroom, and Sherry wasn't in the mood to be in the same room as Nova. She wasn't quite sure she was in the mood for Negan, either. She entered his bedroom anyway.

Unlike her, Negan was in a fine mood. He'd been on a scavenge most of the day, and apparently they'd found a liqueur store that, amazingly, hadn't been totally ransacked. As much as Sherry missed booze, the idea of alcohol being a prime objective for scavengers was ludicrous. You couldn't live on beer.

"Oh, I'm glad you're staying the night." He beamed proudly and dug into a paper bag he'd set by the fireplace. "Because I brought you a pressie!" He presented a huge bottle of red wine. "This is like, good fucking shit too. Like, a hundred fucking years old or something, I bet!"

"I've been thinking of taking up drinking." Sherry took the bottle from him, reading the date. "And that's hardly a hundred years."

"You wanna open that shit up?"

She set it on the window table. "No. Not right now."

He went in the bathroom to clean up for the night, and came out in just his boxer-briefs, no doubt having left his clothes in a lump on the floor. She grunted and gave him an unenthusiastic frown as he stepped up to her. His big hand running up her thigh, slipping a finger teasingly under her panties.

Quite deliberately, she set her hand upon his wrist and pushed it away.

"Come on, baby," he said, "We haven't in a while..." He tried groping her ass instead, and she stepped sideways, evading his horny hands.

He followed her, whining, "Didn't you like my gift..? I thought you would like it..."

"I liked it fine," she growled. "That doesn't mean I have to repay you with sex, does it?"

She turned around to watch his face flit between confused and annoyed, like he wasn't sure how to react. "I didn't know you considered it 'repaying' me..." He looked away.

She sighed and rolled her eyes upward. "Gimmie a break, don't do this guilt-tripping crap. Just because I don't want to fuck you right now doesn't mean I never want to, _ever."_ She reached back and pulled the ponytailer from her short hair. "Besides, I'm not exactly happy with you."

" _What now_?" He crawled into his side of the bed. "What the fuck could I possibly have done when I wasn't even here?"

Her annoyance from earlier was bubbling up. "You disrupted the fucking peace. You ruined it. Because you're fucking _greedy."_

"What are you talking about?" He roughed up his pillow before thunking his head down.

She got into bed, sitting against the headboard with her arms crossed over her chest. "Figure it out, Negan, you're 'smart' enough."

"Oh, fucking insults, huh?" He laughed. "You know how much it turns me on when you bad-mouth me."

"Your new wifey. That's what. You bring her in and you don't give a crap about how much it disrupts our lives."

He blinked over at her, smiled like she was joking. "Amber is causing trouble? Well fuck me, she seemed like such a sweet-"

"Amber isn't doing anything," Sherry growled. "But there are _certain_ girls of yours who don't approve of you bringing yet another piece of ass in here."

"Ahhh." His hand moved under the covers, and clasped onto her hip, his fingers gently stroking. "I still love you, Sherry, you know that!"

"Nova, you dumbass. She's fucking jealous, and she's taking it out on Amber. Why she doesn't take it out on _you_ and your wandering penis I have no fucking idea."

"Oh. Well, what should I do? Yell at her?"

"I don't care. But do _something..._ you always do this, you always leave it to me to delegate this crap. _"_

"That's your job," He said, "You're good at delegating." He wiggled closer to her, trying to sweeten her up with neck-kisses.

She struggled between shoving him away and letting him do it, and in her hesitation he pulled the top of her nightgown down and adorned her breasts with his mouth. Shivers went through and she tried to clamp down on a sudden moan. He moaned too, and snuck his hand onto her panties again, the heel of his hand pressing on her clit and rubbing in slow circles.

 _Oh shit..._ She didn't want to cave in, but her hips were rising up into his touch and she could feel the throb beginning, the swelling of her labia, the tickling feel as wetness began to flow. He pressed a bit harder and the friction felt so damn good.

"Yeah, that feels good, doesn't it?..." he rasped into her ear. "C'mon Sherry, you _know_ you didn't come in here just to bitch at me..."

She panted and weakly tried to push him off. "Stop. S-s-stop."

He lifted his palm off, but only to press two fingers onto her clit and rub, the pinpoint pressure on her sensitive nub making her cry out.

"Neg-"

"You really want me to stop?" His breath was hot on her nipple. He stilled his fingers.

She breathed hard, trying to dredge up her annoyance and anger... his dumb coveting for more pussy, it had disrupted the harmony of their home! He was incorrigible! She shouldn't be rewarding his behavior like this!

But the ache in her body, the pure want of _sex_ , it was taking her rationale and beating it to a pulp.

She didn't speak, hoping he'd back off... if he just would fucking _back off,_ she could do it. She could resist.

But he kept his fingers on her, the unmoving weight of them driving her mad, his lips sucking gently on her breast as he awaited her answer.

"If... if she keeps up the bad attitude... Nova, I mean... you have to do something. Ok? You need to-"

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Sure. I fucking will. Just say the word..." He was pressing his hips to her now, rubbing the bulge in his boxers against her thigh.

She said nothing, just pressed herself to the ministrations of his hand, feeling herself grow more slippery by the minute, sighing as he switched to the other breast. She was letting him sweat a little, his breath punctured with soft groans as he frotted against her thigh.

"You're going to make a mess all over me if you keep doing that," she said, pushing his hips away.

He groaned. "Well...are you going to let me or not-"

She reached down, pulled his dick through the flap in the boxers, clenched her hand around it. He uttered another sound partway between pleasure and frustration, cock sliding in and out of her clutching hand. He was already leaking precum, the liquid slicking down his length. So warm, so soft and yet rigid and hard as... _petrified wood._ She snorted a laugh.

He was starting to pant, fidgeting as she examined his aching cock. Gently she clasped it just about the head, gliding his foreskin up over the swollen tip. And then down again, up, down. That made him squirm even more, and his cock twitched in her hand.

"Gosh, this little fellow looks like he's about to explode," she taunted. He frowned at her choice of adjective; tried pushing her back onto the bed. She held him off with her hand clawed into his chest.

"Just a second."

"Sherry, for fuck's sake-"

"Nuh uh." She shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're gonna have to work for it, buddy."

He flopped back onto his pillow, arm petulantly over his eyes, a full-blown whine coming from his throat.

She laughed, ignoring the ache that encompassed the entirety of her lower body, like she was dying and only sex would save her. She had much more self-control than he. "Quit bitching and put your mouth to better use, and you just might get your dick wet _sometime_ this year."

After some muttering and cursing, he had his face planted precisely where she wanted, right between her thighs. She placed her hand on top of his head and pressed insistently downward. "Get to work, mister. And if you can't control yourself before you're done...then I'm afraid I'm not staying awake long enough for you to pop another boner."

He grumbled into the space between her legs. "You just wait, Sherry. You won't be able to walk straight for a week."

"Quit talking, your mouth is going to get enough of a workout. You need to save your energy." She gave his head a light shove. His nose nudged her aching clit and she shuddered. "Ohhhh yeah... now _get to work._ "

And so, he got to work, throwing everything into the task, tongue, lips, fingers...and it was divine, wet, back-arching, sheet-tearing joyousness. The stress and annoyance melted from her mind, and she was nothing but a warm, glowing pool of bliss. She was trembling and weak when he finally emerged. He was displaying a proud row of teeth, and an equally proud, and still brazenly erect cock.

"My goodness," she panted. "You _did_ manage to hold out. I'm impressed."

"You were expecting anything less?" He clambered his big body on top of hers, his cock cradled right in the folds of her very wet and happy labia. "Ok. My fucking turn. Right?"

"Yep..." She patted his chest. "Go for it, big boy."

"Fuck yeah." He didn't waste a second, sinking inside her in one smooth stroke. Her tired body still had some spark left, and she cried out, wrapping her arms around him.

"Now, Negan," she whispered into his ear, "You'd better remember... I'm still not happy with you."

"Really? If this is you unhappy, then I better be extra fucking bad from now on..."


	6. The Girl with the Pearl Necklace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smutty smut smut.

Amber felt hot and sticky that morning. In need of a shower. She hoped Carson had filled the shower-bags, pushing her sweaty over-long bangs from her forehead. She needed a haircut too. She’d get Shanda to help her later.

Stumbling groggily to the main bathroom, she found it already occupied by Sherry. She tiptoed into Negan’s bedroom, past his quiet form laying in bed. Yes. The shower was empty and ready to go. Sighing for the simple pleasure, she began to bathe, washing the night-sweat and heat from her skin.

Presently, she became aware of noise from the adjourning bedroom. Talking, giggles, a girlish squeal. Oh dear – some of the wives were in there. Who knows what was going on? She didn’t want to particularly know – so stalling, she toweled off slowly and indulged in some personal hygiene. Clipping her nails, applying lotion and a light touch of make-up. The sounds only intensified, now mingled with groans of both the male and female sort.

_Damn!_   
_Can’t hide forever…_

She tiptoed from the bathroom, feeling like she had just walked onto the set of an amateur porno. Her face was tomato-red in an instant, and the heat and sweat she’d just washed away came back full-force.

Negan, Nova and Shanda were atop the bed’s messy cover, none of them wearing a stitch of clothing. He lay on his back, propped up by the pillows. The two girls were curled on either side of his hips, and much to his obvious delight, they were making out vigorously. His erect member, also very happy, hovered between the two girls, wet from the affectionate touch of their mouths.

_Omigod_. Amber threw a hand up to shield her eyes and rushed for the door, sacrificing stealth for speed.

“AMBER!” He called gleefully, stopping her in her tracks. “So fucking good to see you. Get over here, girl!”  
She hesitated and he called again. “Git your fine ass over here! On the double!”

Ugh. She groaned, and trying to avoid looking at anything, she moved awkwardly up to the bed. He tilted his head towards her and grinned. Removing his hand from its tense grip on the sheets, he smacked her ass hard, a slap that stung even through her jean shorts. She jumped. “Come on. Join in. We’re playing a game – and ladies, the fucking odds have just gone up!”

“Three-to-one, who can blow his load first,” said Shanda nastily, flicking a red-painted nail against his shaft.

That game sounded absolutely horrible. Amber did not want the participation ribbon, and she certainly didn’t want the gold medal.

“First prize is the loveliest pearl necklace you ever laid fucking eyes on. What woman wouldn’t want one?” He winked and Amber resisted the urge to punch him in the head. Both of them.

“I just took a shower,” she protested.

“Really? You’re all fucking sweaty. You definitely need another one – so you might as well have a little fun first…”

She sighed and gave in, clambering onto the bed between his legs and leaning awkwardly against one thigh. The two girls kissed again, sloppy slips of tongue, and hands freely roaming the others breasts, white against ebony. Amber had nothing good to stare at – it was either them or Negan’s dick - and neither were making her very comfortable.

Nova moaned a little, lapping down to the base of his dick, and Shanda did the same on the other side. They both licked upwards, then kissed again, tongues flitting into mouths and teasingly swiping the head of his cock in the process. He shifted, lifting his hips upwards a little to increase the touch; the girls broke apart, grinning mischievously. “Fuuuuck…that is so fucking hot.”

“Mmm…you like that?” Nova asked. The young woman grasped his dick and bobbed her head on it, coming off it with a long, loud slurp, before passing it along to Amber like they were sharing a peace pipe.

Amber blew out a hissing breath through her teeth. Her cheeks felt hot enough to cook eggs – they wouldn’t even need the camp stove this morning. Painfully aware of the two girls watching her, she lowered her mouth onto him, tasting salt and sweetness. She could only suck gently for a few moments before her embarrassment overwhelmed – she quickly pushed the offering towards Shanda.

“Was that Amber?” he asked, his head leaned back into the pillows, his hand clutched into the sheets again as Shanda used her mouth most vigorously. “Yeah, thought so. She’s always so… cautious.”

“Awww…” said Nova, casting Amber a derisive smile. “…is she afraid mean ole Mr Weenie is gonna bite?” She waved the penis at Amber with a floppy comical motion, her voice going high like she was making it talk. “ _Don’t be scared, ole Bessie, I don’t bite..but I do spit from time to time!”_

“You are crazy, girl,” said Shanda, her hoot of a laugh bursting from her.

“Spitting is rude,” Amber said primly, taking ‘Mr Weenie’ in her palm and glaring down at it. “Maybe Mr Weenie should be put in the corner until he learns to have some manners.”

Negan laughed his ass off at this, his peals of hilarity shaking the entire bed. Amber shook her head, and bit her lip… this game was getting old already. She gave his dick a few half-hearted jerks and passed it along to Shanda.

“Mmmm…” Shanda purred and sucked one of his balls into her mouth, her hand twisting around the head of his cock. He let out a soft moan.

“Fuck yeah… Keep that up, and you’re gonna be the grand prize winner.”

“Fuck that!” Nova reached over and tugged him away from Shanda. “I want it.”

Amber made a face. Nova stuck her tongue out at her, before treating his dick to wet caresses. Now it was Amber’s turn again, and she sighed and repeated her earlier soft sucking, then passed it off to Shanda.

He laughed. “Amber, you literally _suck_ at sucking, you know that? One of these days, I’m gonna have these two give you some lessons. Or maybe you can practice on some of those toys in the bathroom. I won’t get jealous.”

“Suck your own dick,” Amber muttered, scowling at his chin, because that was the only part of his face she could see right now. The big asshole was lucky she even put her damn mouth on him at all.

“I’m not flexible enough.” He sat upright, smiling at his three women. “Because other-fucking-wise…”

“Yeah? Would you spit or swallow?” Nova asked, working both hands on his shaft like she was churning butter. She passed the dick to Amber, who copied exactly what Nova had been doing.

He didn’t answer that, but gave Amber a wink. “Ok. You wanna see some seriously impressive shit? Give it over to Shanda… because she can deep-throat a fucking elephant! Can you fucking believe that?”

Amber passed off the dick, holding back a quip that Negan was hardly to be compared with an elephant…. _Or much less even a horse…_

Shanda took a breath, bowing her head like a magician about to preform a trick. “Behold!”

Amber watched, fascinated and disgusted. Shanda licked her red lips, then stretched them around the head of his dick. Then lower. Half his shaft now in her mouth and she was still going, until her nose made contact with his belly.

“Wow,” said Nova, and Negan nodded with the dopey grin.

“ _Fucking_ wow. Shit….”

Shanda stayed that way for a few more seconds, then came back up with a heaving chest and a gasp for breath. A string of spittle connected her lips to head for a second, then broke. Amber wasn’t sure whether to laugh or gag.

“Is that fucking amazing or what?” He and Nova both gave a round of applause. Amber felt like she’d entered into some surreal world, a world populated by demons and succubi; creatures who lived only for sex and depravity.

_But I jumped down the rabbit hole. I put myself in this world._ Watching Shanda and Nova suck and lick and moan over him… she wondered if she should just crawl out of that hole and never look back. And then he was passed along to her, and she played along right with them.

The game continued on for several more minutes. At first, Negan sat upright and watched them, his face the epitome of enjoyment – but as the pleasure began to overwhelm, he laid back into the pillows. Amber gasped for breath, passing the very wet, very throbbing cock along to Shanda. The ebony girl went down fully again, and Nova leaned in, her tongue trailing over his sack, a moan vibrating through flesh.

He wasn’t talking much now, hips jerking with sporadic jolts of pleasure. Through his increasing pants and groans came the occasional 'fuck’, and although Amber was abashed by the litany of ecstasy– as she was by everything – it meant at least that the game was nearly over.

“Ooh, I think he’s gonna blow soon…” Nova squealed, as Shanda came up gasping like a fish on land. “Who’s it gonna be?” She received the game piece from Shanda’s dark hand, her fingers wrapping the shaft and pumping vigorously, pink tongue twisting around the head with incredible flexibility.

“Oh fuck… fuck yeah…Shit!” His words were labored. His hand flung out, trying to grab Nova, but she was already passing the dick along to Amber.

“Dammit,” she whispered, licking her lips and staring down at the precum streaming from the tip. This was a damn time bomb in her hand, and she didn’t want to set it off. Cautiously, she touched her tongue to him, licking up his arousal, and then gently sucked the tip into her mouth. _Make it quick, do your turn and then get rid of it – Quick!_

Too late! His grabbing hand found her, tangling fingers into her short locks. Gripping, forcing her head down further onto him. She gagged, fighting to pull back. “S-s-shit…don’t stop baby, don’t fucking stop,” he begged, his hips jerking too. She whimpered in protest. He was going to fucking suffocate her!

“Yeah, don’t stop, Amber! You’re almost there!” Nova’s voice, cheerfully urging her.

“Eyes on the prize,” Shanda said, giggling. “Oh yeah, it’s coming, isn’t it, baby?”

“F-f-fuck…fucking hell! Fuck yeah, it’s c-c-coming!”

_But I don’t wanna win!_ Amber whined inside her head, as Nova’s hand came forward and massaged his aching balls, and Shanda leaned over his chest, twisting a nipple between her teeth. He gripped her head with both hands now, thrusting himself into her mouth. She managed to pull back just enough to not choke. _Fuck it, just let me win already._

He couldn’t talk now, his only noises were animal grunts and choked breaths.

“Yeah!” Nova cheered. “Come on, Neegs! Give it to her! Flood her fucking throat!”

_Gross_ , Amber thought, then _Shit_. The flood was coming. The first spurt hit the back of her throat. She struggled upwards, breaking free of his loosening grip. Coughing, cringing, turning her head to the side as she received a faceful, hot and dripping thickly down over her lips and neck.

“Oh fuck…” He moaned, one hand reaching down and stroking, squeezing out those last few drops of pleasure. One final spurt shot out, smacking Amber square in the eye. She whimpered and tried to wipe it off as the girls broke into laughter and applause.

“We have a winner! Wohooo!”

“Omigosh, look at all that cum _all over_ her,” Nova squealed. “What a dirty little slut!” She burst into more hilarity, smacking Amber’s arm.

“That’s not funny,” she griped, but they only laughed more as she used the bedsheet to wipe her drenched face. Her eye was burning and starting to tear up. “Not funny at all…”

Negan was panting as he struggled back up into a sitting position. “Congrats, Amber. You like your prize? Oooh. That pearl necklace looks good on you.” He choked through laughter and gasps for breath.

“I don’t like pearls,” she growled, but that only amused him more.

“I’m surprised you even won, you were playing amongst champions, after all.” He smirked. “Course, I had to do most of the work.”

“Oh, you mean when you almost fucking _choked_ me?” She hissed, and scrubbed the last bits of semen from her skin. Nova and Shanda were still laughing at her, and she felt her temper rising, and with it, the tears that always accompanied her anger. They slipped down her face, making her even more furious. “Stop laughing! This isn’t funny! You’re all _sick_!”

She slid from the bed. Nova rolled on her back, still giggling, and Shanda pressed a hand over her smiling lips. “We’re not sick, you’re just a prude,” Nova teased. “Lighten up a little, Moo Cow.”

Amber responded by stamping to the bathroom and slamming the door. She huffed angrily on the other side. She needed another shower. Too late, she stepped in and realized… she’d used all the water up before.

_Damn it._


	7. That was Clearly Sarcasm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In my take of Sanctuary, there is a big greenhouse on the main roof of Sanctuary. And on the rooftop of Negan’s penthouse (the highest point of the building), they have another small greenhouse used solely by the wives/Negan. Negan also keeps his weight bench out there,and the girls often go up to the roof to sit. In this snippet, Amber goes up for some fresh air.
> 
> (Also, Nova likes to smoke weed.)

As she stepped into the crisp, fresh air of the rooftop, the breeze blew back, carrying the telltale stench of marijuana. She frowned; she wasn’t exactly in the mood for Nova’s antics and petulant behavior.

She peeked out anyway, just to get the girl’s whereabouts. The roof was big enough to share…

The young wife was not there. Negan was standing near the ledge, one foot propped on it, a joint pinched between his fingers. It appeared he _did_ actually use the weight bench, judging by the scattered weights and the sweatiness of his wife-beater.

He winked at her, nodding his head down towards the joint. “Ssssh. Don’t tell Nova.”

“I won’t.” She wasn’t sure she was in the mood for him either, but she craved fresh air.

She headed towards the sunbleached plastic lawnchair, ‘Adirondack’-style, she fancied they were called, and plopped into it. The plastic felt brittle and creaked. He watched her, like he was expecting the chair to break, so he could have a great big laugh at her expense, but it held.

He sucked in a long drag, blew it out. “Fuck. Nice day, huh?”

“Yeah.” She stared beyond him at the expanse of forest. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“Once in a while.” He turned back to the view, and whatever his thoughts had been prior to her arrival. She closed her eyes, sighing softly to the touch of sun, warm and heavy on her skin.

She was glad for the silence, thankful that Negan wasn’t talking her ear off, or trying to get in her (hot) pants. She dozed in and out of consciousnesses for a while, feeling the sun gradually burn its way into her skin. She wiggled out of her slumped position and wiped sweat off her brow.

_Now this is the life. I never thought I’d be able to sun-bathe again, that’s for damn sure. Oh hell._

Negan was leaned against the ledge, blatantly ogling her. The joint was greatly reduced in size, just a little nub of burning white. His eyes, sleepy and pupil-dominated from the weed, traveled the curves of her body. His smile was shameless. “Hey. You wanna fuck?”

_Is that all he ever thinks about?_

Amber kept the weariness from her gaze, but she couldn’t hold back the sigh that filtered from her mouth. She started to pull off her shirt, but once it was off, she was confused to see Negan hadn’t budged from his spot by the ledge.

She gave him what was supposed to be a come-hither stare, but she knew it was half-hearted at best. He shook his head. “I didn’t say we ‘had to’, Amber…” He took another hit from the joint, rolling his eyes. “Just if you wanted to.”

“Oh.” Her stupid cheeks, red as apples.

“And clearly, you aren’t that interested.” He smiled, and it was just on the edge of dopey. He hoisted himself up to sit on the ledge, and Amber cringed as he tottered backwards for a moment. She could just see him plummeting to his death, and then she’d be out a job.

“Um…you should be careful…” she said. “Don’t fall…”

“Meh…” He waved her concern away with the joint-holding hand, sending a plume of weed smoke her way.

She closed her eyes again, and there was quiet for a while. She lazed in the warmth of the sun. Wiping the dewy sweat from her forehead with her arm, smelling the sun-oiled scent of her skin.

The scuff of his boots roused her from her doze. He sat in another of the rickety lawn chairs, the kind with woven nylon mesh around a metal frame. She held her breath, half-expecting him to fall right through. The mesh strained under his weight but held…for now. They really needed some new furniture.

He set his long legs straight out in front of him, boots dug into the white pebbled surface of the roof, his face drowsy and quite stoned. “Fuck. I’m seriously craving a snack. You got anything on you?”

“Where?” She asked, nodding sarcastically down at her bra and hot pants. “I don’t exactly have anywhere to hide it.”

“No? You could’ve smuggled some chocolate out in your cooch.”

“Gross.” She made a face.

“I don’t know…” He contemplated, his tone halfway between sleepy and horny, “Would probably be tasty as fuck, going down on that.”

“No. It would be gross.”

He let out a weird, snorty laugh, most likely a product of his stoned state. “I really want a snack,” he complained again. “But I’m way, way too fucking tired to go get one.”

That was probably a hint; one which she ignored. The sun had made her body leaden, conformed to the curves of the chair. She wasn’t going to move.

“Come on,” he said, whining now. “Go make me a sandwich.”

That deserved a full-on glare. “Make you a sandwich?” she said, icily, “What is this, the stone age? Are you going to club me with Lucille too?”

“If you don’t make me a fucking sandwich, yeah.”

She was tempted to tell him to ’ _fuck off_ ’; Sherry would… but she hadn’t yet dredged up that much pluck. Instead, she groaned and lifted her legs, so heavy and relaxed. Swinging them over to the side of the chair, she started to stand. And he laughed at her, leaning his head back and cackling at the sky like a lunatic.

“Oh fuck me, you are _so_ fucking precious,” he snorted. “…I’m not fucking serious, you silly little blond, you. Sit the fuck down.”

She grumbled under her breath, her body gratefully fell back into the chair like a dead weight.

“…I’m so hungry I could eat… your pussy.” His eyes probed her legs, and he licked his lips with a sidelong, horny look thrown her way. “You 'down’ for that?”

Her eyes widened because, the next thing she knew, the big stoned Savior Leader had thunked out of the chair and was crawling towards her like a drunken panther. He purred and rubbed his face on her knee, one hand trying to nudge her legs apart.

“Ugh…No…” she put her hand on his forehead and pushed; he fell back onto his ass with a peal of laughter. “…oh my gosh, you’re so high. You’re acting crazy.”

“Nuh-uh…” He said, childishly, sitting up and insistently trying to pry her legs open once again. “…Come on…I’m hungry… gimme some sugar, baby.”

“No way…you’ll forget what you’re 'eating’ and you’ll bite me for real.”

“Oh pfffttt…I so fucking won’t…” He pouted but she didn’t relent. He finally groaned and laid back onto the roof, his foot kicking annoyingly at the bottom of her chair. “You’re no fun…you are the biggest stick-in-the-fucking-mud.”

“Whatever…” He was getting on her nerves now, but she still didn’t want to move. It was a moot point, as about a minute later, Negan had zonked out laying right on the pebbled surface of the roof. She rolled her eyes. He could sleep on a damn bed of nails.

For a while, she enjoyed the pleasure of sunbathing. The sound of his light snoring was even pleasant; it was far better than his constant stream of profanity and lewdness, anyway.

She reckoned ten minutes had passed and he stirred, sitting up with a grimace and brushing off the back of his head. He stood up, stretching out his back and plopped back into the mesh armchair. “Fuck…I can’t believe I just fell asleep like that. Fucking shit made me tired.” He grinned at her. “You didn’t take advantage of me when I was passed out, did you?”

She laughed. “Uh. No. Don’t worry about your underwear being on backwards. Really…nothing happened.”

“My only regret would be sleeping through it…” He winked.

* * *

The sun was lowering to the horizon, smearing its dripping watercolors onto sky and ground. Maybe she’d inhaled some of Negan’s joint, but the colors were spectacular, almost neon in their vividness.

He let out a soft laugh, eyeballing her again with a languid smile. “The light’s making your hair look red,” he stated, “…are you sure you don’t want to dye it…? Fuck, you make a hot little ginger.”

She made a face. She had nothing against auburn hair, but she’d always been a bit vain about her natural, honey-hued tresses. Other girls, with their tell-tale brown roots, could play blondie all they wanted… she was the real thing. “No…I don’t. I like my color just fine.”

He scrunched his face in disapproval. “Oh fine.” Something devious was coming into his face now. Amber didn’t want to know. “I’ve had my eye on this new Savior we brought in. Charlotte, I think her name is. Redhead. Fucking hot as shit.”

Amber’s eyebrows lowered, her eyes narrowed to slits.

“I really, really want a fire crotch to add to my collection,” he continued. “I guess I could just fuck her without marrying her…but…”

Her tiredness was dissipating as anger began to rise. The laziness left her legs, she swung them over the side of the chair and stood up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, eyes so round and baby-innocent.

“That’s…that’s crap,” she sputtered.

“What? That I want to fuck a redhead? I didn’t think it would be that surprising. I like fiery women.”

Oh, she was feeling fiery alright. Hissing, dredging up some of that pluck after all. “No… that you can just go fuck around, but we’re supposed to be devoted to you! When you can’t even hold up your end of the bargain!”

He laughed. “I never said it was a two-way street, Amber. Didn’t you read the fine print?”

“You…you suck.”

“Oh, chill out.” He yawned and stretched, the mesh chair creaking dangerously underneath him. “…I’m not gonna fuck her. My dick belongs to you girls, seriously. I’m just fucking with you.” His grin was pure, boyish charm. “You are fucking adorable when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” Defeated, she slumped back into the chair. It didn’t matter if it was unfair. He made the rules. If he wanted to screw on the side, she couldn’t stop him, she couldn’t rail against it. “It’s just… don’t you have enough…? You’ve got five of us… that’s really not enough for you?”

He shrugged.

A long sigh escaped her and she gazed out at the color-streaked sky. No wonder Sherry had such a short fuse, a look of long-suffering. He was hard to live with, even when he was at his sweetest… he was like brain-freeze epitomized. A long, tasty sip of charm and good-looks… a stabbing pain to the temples striking out of nowhere.

“Why do you need so many wives, anyway?” She asked. “…why not just…sleep around? Why have us live with you?”

“I like having you around. I like having a relationship,” he said. “…but I just… I can’t stick with one. Each one of you is fantastic, but how can I say I like one of you better than the other? You all have your special traits… and I like them all. I want them all. And I don’t like to share.”

She gnawed her lip. Trying to bite back her curiosity… but he was so docile and lax, and he was talking freely… so she asked. “Sherry was your first… did you plan on more? Were you just going to be with her…? ”

He was quiet for so long she thought he was just ignoring her, as he was apt to sometimes. Finally, he snorted. “Sherry couldn’t keep up with me. She said I was too much for her.”

_Well…I believe that._ She couldn’t imagine any woman being able to keep up with him, unless they were a nymphomaniac. The only thing keeping him from fucking 24/7 was the refractory period between erections…otherwise, he would probably never leave his bedroom.

“I’ll admit it. I can be a little…overwhelming.” He grinned. “So yeah, one day, when it was just me and Sherry, it was raining. Like, motherfucking buckets. There wasn’t shit to do.” He canted his head, like he was speaking to an invisible person. “Sherry, you wanna fuck, baby?”

He pitched his voice high, shrew-like. “Oh Negan, we just fucked an _hour_ ago. Seriously?” He put his hand on his hip, glaring in a rather good impression of his first wife. Amber was glad Sherry wasn’t around to see this. “So I fucking said, 'maybe I should get another wife, you know, for times like this.’ And she said 'Go for it.’”

Amber opened her mouth, but Negan was still going. She waited for a pause in his endless ramble, but it didn’t look to be coming.

“I thought that was a pretty grand fucking idea, actually, so the next day I had Carson do some interviews for me.” He grinned cheekily, his eyes squinting. “And the next thing you know, I put a ring on Shanda and Jazzi, well, figuratively fucking speaking. You know.”

Amber tried to speak, but Negan was just taking a breath, so…

“…I wasn’t so sure about Jazzi. Because, she’s kind of fucking weird.”

_Like YOU can talk…?_ Amber raised her eyebrows. He didn’t notice, because his eyes were glazing over, and he stared off at some point above her head, shifting restlessly in his chair.

“…but she managed to convince me. Like…really convince me…” He sighed, and fidgeted again – Amber kept her eyes locked above the level of his crotch, because she knew what she’d see if she looked down.

_Please don’t tell me the details._

He didn’t. Whatever dirty reminiscing he was seeing behind those dark eyes, it had silenced his chatter. Amber spoke, her tone desert-dry. “I don’t think that’s what Sherry meant. When she said 'go for it’.”

He draped one hand over his thigh – Amber dearly hoped he wouldn’t start touching himself – and shrugged. “In case you haven’t noticed, Sherry has no fucking problem letting me know how she really feels.”

“Yes, but that was clearly sarcasm…”

“ _Clearly?_ I’m so used to her brutal _hurtful_ honesty,” He did his best sad puppy expression, “How could I be blamed for misinterpreting her 'sarcasm’ for truth?”

Amber rubbed her temples. Brain freeze was coming on strong.

“It wasn’t just about _my_ fucking needs. I was thinking about her too…”

A tiny, derisive peep of a laugh popped from Amber’s mouth. She put a hand up like excusing a belch.

“…I thought she’d be happier, with some of the fucking burden…literally, the burden of _fucking_ , taken off. Like, she’d get a bit of a break and only enjoy my company when she was hot for it, right?”

“Oh right…”

“And she’d have someone else to talk to, the sort of conversations I can’t quite provide, not being of the boob and vagina variety.”

Another peep. The way he said 'vagina’, clicking each syllable off his tongue with precision. He clearly liked the sound of it, the feel of it in his mouth… _-both literally and physically-_

She was peeping more than a baby chicken.

“It’s not that funny, is it? I really thought I was doing her a favor, and she’d be pleased with me…” Negan snorted. “Well, I should’ve fuckin’ figured.”

“How exactly did she react…?” Amber cringed, and he did too. That made her laugh again.

“Fuck me..” He shook his head. “Let’s just say I doubt you girls even fucking need birth control after she was done 'talking’ to me.” He grimaced and shifted in the chair.

Amber didn’t believe him…surely if Sherry had damaged his prized penile possession in any way he’d have killed her, right?

“She was seething. Off the fucking walls. Quite fucking rude to Shanda and Jazzi. I thought for sure she was going to leave me.”

Amber was quiet, mulling over her thoughts. He was still calm and soft from the drugs, his eyes lacking that predatory edge. But he wasn’t going to black out, or forget their conversation. He might hate that she pried this out of him later. He might be…angry.

“…but wasn’t she in it for the points?” That sounded crass, like Sherry was some sort of gold-digger. She giggled again, this one holding a clear nervous tremor. “Er…you know what I mean. Didn’t she have an 'arrangement’ with you just like us… she was just the first…? Why would she be so mad if you brought others in?”

Faint frown lines appeared between his eyes. “We weren’t like that at first. We were just fucking around. And then she came to live with me.” He stared out at the horizon; the sun was almost gone now and the sky was darkening to navy blue. “…so I can see why she was fucking jealous…she wanted just _us_ , but…”

She _must_ have inhaled some of the weed. The implications he was giving… “…are you saying Sherry…?” She trailed off. _Cheated on Dwight? Chose to be with Negan for reasons other than points?_

“I know, it’s unbelievable to think a woman would choose me of her own free will.”

Amber gnawed her lip. If Sherry had chosen Negan over Dwight, then that meant…it _had_ to mean, because why else? She eyed her petulant husband, projecting insult over there. A gloomy pallor was settling over his face. Maybe the weed made him more sensitive.

_No way._

They were both liars, she and Negan; he played at hurt feelings, Amber played at love - the 'L’ word she whispered to him during sex, trying to pretend herself into a happier life…but Sherry…Sherry had really felt it? _Well, whether or not she felt it… those feelings are long gone now. And no wonder…_

“That’s kind of bad, Negan…” She tentatively gave criticism. “If you knew she felt like that… and then you go and bring other women in…? Didn’t you think that would hurt her feelings?”

“No. It was her idea.”

Amber sighed. Even if she drilled a hole into his skull and screamed the obvious at him, _Sherry was joking, no woman likes to be put second, or third, or fifth!_ , she doubted her words would ever penetrate his oblivious mind. He either believed his bullshit or he didn’t really care. Their feelings were inconsequential to him, unless they inconvenienced him in some way.

He rose from the chair with an over-exaggerated groan of exertion. “All right. I really need something to fucking eat.” He headed for the door.

She was getting cold. She followed him downstairs, inhaling the stench of weed the entire way.


	8. Wham Bam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drinking, smut, Negan being a total jerkwad deluxe.

“Ok. Tonight’s the night. I’m gonna break open this sucker.”

Amber looked up from her book as Sherry entered the room. The first wife was hefting a massive bottle of red wine.

“It’s just you and me, Amber. You down for it?”

Amber grinned and tossed the book to the other side of the couch. “Hell yeah! Where were you hiding that?”

“Not telling.” Sherry winked. “It was a present from ole Neegs, right around the time you came, actually. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion…but you know what? Fuck that. I want to get plastered tonight.” 

Amber giggled. “I haven’t been drunk in so long. I probably won’t hold my liqueur well.”

“I won’t judge.” Another wink. “If you don’t…”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Be right back…” Sherry headed for the kitchen, returning with two wine glasses and a corkscrew. She struggled with the bottle for a minute, before the cork popped, releasing the heady fume of fermented grapes.

“Oh yeah…” Sherry grinned in delight. “Oh my God… that smells so good. My mouth is watering.” She poured Amber’s glass and then her own. “What should we toast to?”

Amber swirled the mauve-colored liquid, her eyes rolling at the aroma. “Mmmm. Um.. How about… a toast to good wine and good company?” She laughed. “And good cheese.”

Sherry shook her head. “Not cheesy. True.”

They clinked their glasses and Sherry took her seat. Both women intended to savor the first glass, but it went down quicker than they anticipated… the taste, texture, and rush of euphoria was way too tempting.

After the first glass, Amber was definitely feeling the effects. Her giggles were flowing freely and unrestrained, her mood bright. “Oh gosh… I shouldn’t,” she said, as Sherry gave her a refill from the enormous bottle.

The other woman clicked her tongue. “Who cares if you ‘shouldn’t’?”

A giggle. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s not like I have to show up for work tomorrow, right?”

“Fuck right. And even if you did, all you have to do is lay there…” Sherry’s smile was wickedly sardonic.

“Hardest job ever.” For some reason, the pun was extremely funny to her. Amber spent a few moments snorting and giggling.

“You know what? We gotta get Negan drunk one of these nights.” Sherry refilled her glass, flopping back into the chair, her breasts jiggling in the low-cut bra. “You won’t believe some of the shit he says. If you thought he was fucking insane sober…heh. You ain’t seen nothing.” She smiled evilly, taking a long sip.

Amber grinned. “Really? Like what?”

“The problem is…I don’t remember half of it. I was drunk too.” Sherry leaned her head back, the wine sloshing dangerously close to the glass rim. “It was crazy though. Shit…he got weepy too. Talk about a tear in your beer! He had a beer _made_ of tears.”

Amber was intrigued. “I didn’t think he had functioning tear-ducts!”

“Yeah. It was pretty ugly.” Sherry laughed at the memory.

“What was he crying about?” Amber was dying. She HAD to know.

But much to her disappointment, Sherry shrugged in a clueless fashion. The woman sipped her wine and chuckled. “Get this, though! I also found out, that before the Walker Outbreak, he had absolutely NO game with women. Sure, he had a few girls here and there, but his pick-up endeavors usually ended up with him being slapped or drenched in his own beer.” She laughed uproariously. “You know why? He can’t keep his tongue in his mouth. Says whatever the fuck he’s thinking. Like he has fucking Tourrette’s or something. What an idiot!”

She was warming to her abuse, lurching out of the chair. “Just picture it, Amber. Can you imagine Negan trying to pick up chicks in a bar?”

Amber giggled as she swaggered around the room, pretending to scope out all the fine bitches. Sherry’s eyes lit on Amber and she puffed out her chest, strutting like a proud peacock.

Her Negan-voice boomed out: “Hey baby! Come here often?” Eyes dropped to Amber’s chest and bulged out comically. _“Holy titties! What a nice fucking rack! What’s say you and me get outta here and I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll be bent sideways for a week? Huh? How about it?”_

Amber let out the indignant shriek of all his failed conquests: “Fuck off, asshole!” She snatched the imaginary beer from Sherry’s hand, flinging it with outraged fury.

Sherry stumbled backwards, clutching her eyes. _“OW. What the fucking fuck did you do that for, woman?!”_

Amber set her wine down, and leapt to her feet. She grabbed an imaginary microphone, perhaps it was karaoke night at the drinking establishment? _“Hey ladies! Compliments of the fucking bar… they’re handing out free samples of ME all night long! It’s an ALL YOU CAN SWALLOW special!”_ She leaned backwards, tottering on her feet slightly, and engaged in a series of pelvic thrusts. _“Oh fuckity fuck yeah! You know you want it!”_

Sherry collapsed backwards into her chair, laying across it and laughing, laughing, not caring as wine sloshed the floor. And Amber bent double on her tipsy legs, the hilarity pouring from her until her ribs hurt – but it was good. Joyous agony.

“Oh hell…” Sherry wiped her eyes, working off the last few giggles. “Crap. Spilled my wine.”

Amber rubbed her sore ribs and settled back into her chair. A warm glow settled over her body, and she leaned her head back. A stitch was in her side, but she basked, high on the best medicine.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Amber.” Sherry hiccuped. “I really love-”

A cool breeze swept the room as the door opened. Their darling husband had arrived home, lugging an armful of wood. The sight of him brought a fresh round of laughs to their tormented bodies. After depositing the wood by the fireplace, Negan turned with a look of confusion.

“What’s so funny…?”

“Denied,” Sherry said, holding her arm out at him 'Talk to the Hand’ style. “De-fucking-nied.”

His questioning gaze slid to Amber. Helpless giggles pouring forth - She could see it, clear as if she’d been shoved back into time. She clutched the painful stitch. She could see it – she could SO fucking see it. The wasted booze dripping from his face, a highly offended female stamping away from him. And he, standing there with his dumb lips pouting, his brain utterly clueless. “Shit,” she gasped. “I need a beer.”

“You seem pretty fucking toasted,” Negan observed. “Both of you.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t be _drinking_ it.” Sherry’s smile bordered on pure evil.

His eyes were narrowing now, like maybe he was catching on, and Sherry airily continued, “We’re just talking about girl shit, Neegs. Gross stuff, like periods and scary shit like that. Best not to worry your manly little mind about it.”

“Right…” He said, looking dubious. He reached to confiscate the wine bottle and Sherry lunged for it, holding it against her chest.

“Lay off, we ain’t fucking done with it.”

He scowled and reached again. Sherry clutched the bottle and shrieked, swatting at his hand like an angry cat. “I said _fuck off_ , Negan!” 

“Fine. Fucking bitch.” He shook his head, gave Amber an undeserved dirty look, and childishly retreated into his bedroom, slamming the door.

“Now where were we…?” Sherry asked, and she slipped out of the chair, tottering drunkenly over to Amber to refill her glass. “Oh right, we were talking about how Mr Dumbass used to spend his nights…” She let out a guffaw, slumping back into her chair and sipping her wine. “…and how he’s gonna spend this one too…”

Amber giggled furiously as Sherry held out her fist and pumped it up and down, mimicking the masturbatory motions of a horny and woefully solo male. She knew, somewhere in her intoxicated mind, that she should be worried about him overhearing their insults and mockery, but _she_ _just didn’t give a fuck_.

The rest of the evening passed in hazy, euphoric moments of giggling, stumbling, finishing off the entire bottle. She somehow managed to get to her bed, though she laid her head down at the foot of the bed and she was vaguely aware that her leg and arm were hanging off the edge.

She woke up on the floor a few hours later, sore, hungry, and feeling ill. She deposited her last meal into the toilet, moaning as she wiped the vomit off her chin.

_Ugh. Fuck me_.

* * *

Amber couldn’t leave the breakfast table fast enough. The chatter of the girls was swarming her muddy head like mosquitoes. Although she was hungry, her stomach was not in the mood for eating. And Negan was acting suspicious; he kept glancing to her and Sherry, some kind of shit-eating grin sporadically popping up onto his lips.

She excused herself and took a shower. The shower-bag was nearly empty and she barely had enough to wash the suds from her hair. Her skin still felt soapy as she toweled off. When she came out, Nova and Shanda were disappearing out the door, on their way up to the rooftop.

Amber sat stiffly on the couch next to Sherry. Flipping through an old magazine, trying to focus on all the fashions, the nail-polish trend of the month. Insipid shit. Shit she would’ve cared about… Before. Now she flitted her eyes over to a pair of feral, mahogany ones; Negan just grinning away at her from the fireplace chair, his boot jiggling on his knee like a nervous tic. Shit, what the fuck was he fired up about? She didn’t want to know – but knew she was gonna find out.

“Ok. I am fucking energized!” He announced, jumping from the chair like a jack-rabbit on crack. “And I am fucking _up_ for a post-breakfast fuck-a-roo. Who’s with me? Lemmie see a show of hands!”

Nobody was raising their hands. Sherry shot him the finger; Jazzi was by the window, totally engrossed in her latest gift. She cooed over her new binoculars, zooming in on the Walkers below them.

“Amber,” he said gleefully. “Raise your hand.”

Ugh. She wasn’t quite hung-over anymore, but a headache lurked on the edges of her temples, and her limited breakfast wasn’t sitting well. Her hand touched sky reluctantly. She dropped the magazine; past concerns giving way to present. 'What to wear?’ now became – 'How fast can I get him off?’ (So she could get back to her magazine, of course.)

He held the bedroom door open, a mockery of a gentleman if she’d ever seen one. As soon as it thudded shut, he was all over her. Arms pressing her to his chest, zippers digging into her back. Hands so greedy, wrenching down her crop-top to spill out her breasts.

“H-h-hey!” She protested, as he nipped the junction of her shoulder almost hard enough to break skin.

“Take that shit off,” he breathed, releasing her to strip his coat and toss it, belt and zipper jangling, onto the floor.

Fuck – he was really riled up. “Yeah, yeah…” Off came her top, shorts and panties. She didn’t bother with bras anymore, unless that was her sole boob-coverage. What was the point?

He stripped off his shirt, pulled off his boots, but kept his pants on, his breathing all scattered and rough, like he couldn’t even be bothered to finish undressing. If there was ever a definition of 'hungry eyes’ they were his. The scarlet and gold hues coming out full-force, making her shiver, like they always did.

She backed towards the bed with him trailing her. Back-first she flopped down, expecting him to climb onto her, but he grabbed her ankle and tugged her nearly clear off. She squeaked and got her feet under her, stumbling back to the floor.

“None of that missionary crap today,” he said, with an evil grin. He roughly turned her, bending her over the mattress. A hard smack descended on her ass and she yelped. She heard the jangle of his belt buckle, the tell-tale whir of his pants zipper.

“There’s no fucking leverage in that position,” he rasped, his big body leaning over her. His heat made her sweat; his breath hissed in her ear. “And I wanna nail you so fucking hard right now. Yeah, Amber? You want it hard?”

_Not really_ , she wanted to say – 'hard’ wasn’t congruent with her newborn headache. All that thrusting and gyration… fuck that. She’d prefer gentle, loving touches. _There isn’t going to be any of that today_ , she thought in dismay. _But…at least he’ll get off faster. Wham, Bam, Fuck me Ma'am._ So, she bit her lip, forced herself to nod.

“Can’t hear you, babe.” Another hard smack to her ass, another yelp.

“Uh…yes?”

“That is seriously lacking conviction. Tsk tsk…” His hand was sneaking along her thigh. A finger rudely probed her, burning as it wiggled inside. “Shiiiitt,” He drawled. “You’re like the goddamn Sahara.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m not quite…ready…”

He twirled her around again, leaning over to snag a bottle of lube off the night-table. He shoved it into her hand. “Get ready, then. Hurry it the fuck up.”

“Hold your damn horses,” she grumbled. He was really doing a great job of coaxing that headache out of hiding. It spread across her temples like a vise, throbbing just about as much as his dick must be, where it cheerfully peeked at her from the unzipped recess of his pants. She pulled the beast out fully, slathering it with the thick, gooey gel. He flinched slightly at the cold touch, sucking in a breath. The air was tinged with the overly sweet smell of artificial berries.

While one hand dipped between her legs, applying the stuff to herself, she examined the bottle. 'Strawberry Heaven Personal Lubrication.’

_Heaven? I beg to differ._

The bottle also stated in bold letters: Caution: May Stain Clothing.

_Great._ She slathered a huge gob right onto the crotch of his jeans.

“All set?” He was huffing hard enough to make the Big Bad Wolf jealous.

“Er…yeah.” She attempted to replace the bottle, but it slipped from her slick hand. His uncaring foot kicked it away.

She was turned again, face planted into the mattress once more. His hand on her neck, pushing down unnecessarily hard, like she might bolt. She wanted to, but she merely gnawed her lip, bracing herself -

“Oh…” She moaned. “Oh…OH…AH!” Her face screwed up in pain, hands twisting into the sheets. She wasn’t braced for THAT – a rough push inside, cock sliding in all the way to the hilt. She gasped, given no time to acclimate before he was pounding her, hard thrusts that rocked her back and forth over the rumpled blanket.

Tears squeezed through her blond lashes and she struggled for lost breath. Her senses overloaded – she focused on the sounds for a moment – her own whimpers, his breathless profanity, a groan of pleasure. The wet thrusting, his heavy breathing, the smack of his balls against her. And then his stupid, smug voice.

“You like it when I fuck you hard?” He was chock full of questions today. He gripped her hair, pulling her head back. Coffee breath hissing in her ear. “Huh, Amber? You fucking like it?”

She tried to find purchase in the sheets, her fingers grabbing, trying to pull away from him. Just for a moment’s reprieve, a second to breathe. “Oh… uh…”

“What was that?”

“Y-y-yes…?”

“Yes, what?”

“Y-y-yes, Negan…I like it.” She grit her teeth on his name.

“Yeah…” he laughed darkly. “Me too.”

He let go of her hair, gripping her shoulder to hold her in place for more merciless pounding. The friction of it was apt to start a fire between their connected parts at this point. _Thank Heavens for Strawberry Heaven._

One of Sherry’s taunts from last night floated back to her; and her nose scrunched at the irony of it.  
'I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll be bent sideways for a week!’

_More like a month._

She was brought out of her thoughts as he slapped her ass again hard, the sting making her jump. “O-o-ow…” She whimpered. She squirmed under him…her head was pounding, her butt was burning, her hang-over rendering her ill-tempered. It was like he knew it too… and he just wanted to exacerbate her suffering. He was being so horrible today. _You big stupid motherfucker_ , she thought at him with the venom of a thousand cobras. _Dumb bastard, stupid fuck-up. I can’t stand you._

He leaned over her. Chest pressed to her back. The air was too hot. Claustrophobic. Her headache throbbed. Her pulse beat like a fluttering bird and his heartbeat was thudding through her skin now, off-time with hers, making her feel strangely dissonant.

“Oh fuck…” His breath wet the inside of her ear, and one hand wrapped her neck and squeezed. She wiggled and tossed her head, crying out in protest. He wasn’t cutting off her air, but she hated the feeling.

He didn’t seem to notice. “Fuck…you feel so goddamn good.” His other hand squeezed her breast, a little too roughly.

She flinched under the hurtful touch, clutching at his hand. “Please Negan,” she whimpered. “…please don’t choke me.”

“Hmmm?” He let go of her neck and much to her relief, straightened back up. “You don’t like that?”

_Who the fuck does?_ She shook her head, grateful for that small reprieve. _But… I still think you’re an asshole._

As if he heard her disparaging thoughts, her ass was abused by more smacks, one cheek, then the other. She moaned, her flesh red and stinging. _God, what is WITH him and spanking today? I hope this isn’t a new fetish!_ She grit her teeth. _Just have to ride it out. Can’t be long now…_

He leaned back, his hand resting on the small of her back. The other clamped to her hip. His pose was casual, but he was _close_ , she could tell. Her ears tuned to his breath, ragged, labored. Thrusts getting desperate and clumsy. Hand sweating on her skin. His groans getting closer together. _Come on. Cum!_ She rocked her hips back, driving him in deeper, pacing herself to his frenzied rhythm.

_Almost there-_

And then – what? He pulled out abruptly, much to her confusion. She blinked in utter perplexity. How’d he get on the bed? He settled back-first amongst the blanket and numerous pillows, apparently having vaulted right onto the mattress like an unruly child. _Stupid-ass monkeys jumpin’ on the bed…_

“Uh…Negan?” She pushed herself up on shaky arms, her legs trembling. “What the hell are you doing…?”

His arm was across his face, his chest heaving. Panting. “Ssssh…” he said. Dick pointed straight up, swollen and shining wetly. She wanted to smack it as hard as he’d whacked her ass.

But…he’d probably like that.

“Er…” She slid onto the bed beside him. Tentatively she reached towards the unspent member, but before she could touch it, he batted her hand away.

“Don’t. Don’t even breathe on it.”

Oh great. He was prolonging this fucking torture session. She was tempted to grab him anyway, jack him off quick before he could stop her. Instead, she thrust her hands into her lap, staring at his belly. Rising and falling rapidly, then gradually slowing to a normal tempo.

“Ok…” he said, voice maddeningly calm. He uncovered his face, grinning at her. “I need a favor. Go get Sherry, would you? But don’t leave.”

“What..? Why?”

He smacked her thigh with a growl. “Just do it, Amber! Fuck!”

“Asshole…” She muttered. She tottered to the door. Her thighs, slimy with lube, slid off each other with each step. She cracked open the door, peeping her head out. Sherry was still on the couch.

Amber covered her boobs with one arm and leaned further out. “Sherry!” She called. She had to rouse the brunette from her book. “Sherry! Hey! Uh…Negan wants you.”

She heard him growling, the bed squeaking – _what the fuck._ She glanced behind to see he’d taken off his pants, finally, and settled back into the pillows, naked and grinning, dick proudly erect and tall, looking for all the world like a centerfold for _Les Sadiques de Porn._

“Jesus Christ…” Wife One cursed, but she came in anyway, casting Amber a wary look when the younger woman didn’t leave. She took in her naked state, and then glared over at the bed. “Ugh…what do you want? Do I even want to know?”

“I want you to shut that pretty little mouth and take those fucking clothes off. Now.”

Sherry didn’t move.

“Amber, come here. Sit down.” Negan indicated the chair near the bed with a cant of his head. “I want you to watch. Is that ok, Sherry? If she watches me fuck your fucking brains out?”

“Screw you,” Sherry said, reaching back and pulling the door open.

“Don’t be rude, Sherry.” His laid-back position amongst the pillows hadn’t changed. But something had – the predator practically oozed through each pore, and his eyes were gleaming wolfishly. “You might hurt my fucking feelings. Do you really want to upset me? I’m feeling a little…” He grinned, whites gleaming. “…on the edge right now.”

Amber sat uneasily. She shifted uncomfortably, the round bruising of his fingers on her hips, her insides sore from his rough treatment. She didn’t wish this on Sherry, and she really didn’t want to watch.

Sherry gazed at her for a moment, then looked back to him. She shook her head, sighed, apparently having decided not to tempt his ‘wrath’. She reached behind to unsnap her bra. “That’s it,” he cooed, as her panties were kicked aside by a sullen foot.

Amber squirmed in the chair. She was still uncomfortable seeing the other women naked, and still felt beyond naked herself when in the presence of others. Like it wasn’t just her intimate parts exposed, but everything…her entire soul. She almost wished she could be more easy in her own skin, like Sherry, her full hips swaying with natural sensuality as she approached the bed.

“Climb on up, Sher-Bear.”

Nostrils flared, she obeyed, straddling his thighs. His erection pressed up against her stomach, a pearl of precum oozed from the tip to slide down amongst her downy brown pubes. He trailed his hands up her sides, calloused fingers along her soft brown areola. A nipple twisted cruelly between fingertips. She hissed and pulled back.

“You haven’t seen Sherry’s tits yet, have you?” he mused to Amber. His smile was all charm and amiability, a hard contrast to Sherry’s dour pout and Amber’s pensive lip-gnawing. Fingers still teasing and tugging the sensitive little buds. “They’re fucking beautiful, aren’t they? Not quite as big as yours…but that’s alright. Tits are tits. I’m not complaining. Variety is the motherfuckin’ spice of life after all.”

“Yeah, he’s an equal opportunity boob lover.” Sherry’s breath caught, and she squirmed under his touch, but her face was still stern. “Negan…can we get on with this-”

“Sssh.” He quit tormenting her nipple, gesturing eagerly to Amber. “Hey! You wanna suck one?”

“Um…” She flushed scarlet. “No…uh…I’d rather just watch. Please?”

“Pfft. Fine. More for me, then.” He leaned forward, suckling her breasts like a demonic baby. Sherry gazed upward, her lips murmuring in a silent prayer for patience. Or perhaps restraint of the murderous thoughts in her eyes?

“Ok…Neegs. Come on.” She curled her hand around his shaft, giving a few encouraging strokes. “Let’s go already. Jesus Christ.”

He grunted at her actions, then kissed her mouth roughly. His teeth latched onto her lip as he broke away and she yelped. “Ow! What’s your problem, you big asshole?!”

“I told you to shut your goddamn mouth.” His tone sweet as honey. She nursed the small spot of blood on her lower lip, sucking it between her teeth. “I want nothing but the sweet sound of moans coming from that pretty, pretty throat…” His finger traced a line up the delicate column of her neck.

She sucked in a furious breath, her eyes nearly capable of murder. He merely chuckled and swatted her ass. “Ok. Up, up, up.”

Amber rocked uneasily in the chair, arms crossed over her breasts. The pair moved around, until he had her pushed on her elbows and knees at the edge of the bed. He on the floor, poised behind her, another position of leverage. “You’re always a fucking bitch to me, Sherry. So you know what, honey? I’m gonna fuck you like a bitch.”

Sherry’s eyes blazed, her cheeks going red. “Well…you’re an _asshole_ , so should I fuck _you_ like an asshole?”

He ignored her; his smile cruel as his eyes turned to Amber. Her face was blooded red. She was sweating. His hellhound nose sniffed out her discomfort…and he sought, gleefully, to increase it. “Amber. Find that fucking shit. The lube. Or else I’m gonna tear this bitch’s pussy apart. You want that, Sherry?” He yanked on her brunette tresses.

Amber’s eyes went wide; aghast, her mouth gaped open. Sherry glared over her shoulder. “What the hell! Negan, that’s a disgusting thing to-”

His hand raised and descended hard on Sherry’s ass, and her reprimand was lost in a startled yelp. The imprint of his hand was already rising red, and Amber shakily scrambled to find the bottle. She got to her knees, spotting it under the darkness and dust bunnies of the bed.

“Y-y-you asshole,” Sherry’s voice was a shaky whimper. “You know, I should just-”

Amber stretched her arm, reaching, and she heard the hard smack of hand on flesh, another cry from the stinging pain.

“Can’t you keep your yammering trap shut for fucking once? You want another one, Sherry? Then keep fucking talking.”

“The only reason I’m letting you get away with this-” Sherry started and then ended with a shriek amidst another hard spanking.

“Mmm…your ass is positively glowing red, sweetie. I can keep dishing them out…I can do this shit all fucking day.”

Amber managed to touch the bottle with a finger and flick it back her way. There were no more smacks; Sherry had gone silent.

The lube retrieved, Amber stood, nose running from the dust, and eyes tearing from other things. Sherry’s head was bowed, her hands clenched into the sheets. Amber ran her bare arm under her nose, and held the slick bottle out towards him. His hand was tangled in Sherry’s hair, his other caressing her reddened ass. He shook his head. “You do it. Make sure she’s nice and greased, we wouldn’t want to hurt her…”

She stared at the imprints of his hands. Right. He was so adverse to causing pain…sure. He backed away slightly, allowing her room to get in – and she remained frozen. She had never touched another woman… there. Ever. She nearly lost her grip on the slippery bottle, transferring it nervously to her other hand. “Um, Negan, I…uh…”

“I’m not gonna wait all day…” He shook his head. “So either do it, or…” His dick nudged her, like he was going to just ram it straight in, dry.

Amber bit her lip, fighting tears. Sniffling, she squirted the Strawberry Heaven into her hand. Shakily, she leaned in…her hand hovering hesitantly for a moment. Shaking fingers touched the soft warm folds, the cold gel sliding off. She slicked it over the other woman’s entrance as liberally as possible, breathing an apology as Sherry flinched from the gooey chill.

“It’s ok,” Sherry mummered to her, “I’m all right, Amber.”

Amber’s face burned; tears dropped down her cheeks. She avoided Negan’s eyes when she turned to him, slopping another squirt of lube onto his dick, smearing it all along the throbbing organ. He chuckled, apparently amused by her distress. She tasted blood in her mouth. She wanted to grab his cock and snap it back, twist it right off at the root. She wanted to hear him scream.

Another chuckle. “Oh, quit bawling, Amber. You’re taking this way too fucking seriously.” Negan gave her a condescending pat to the head. “Now sit back and watch the show.”

Sherry looked back over her shoulder, her eyes meeting Amber’s. She was flush with anger or embarrassment, but she gave a reassuring smile.

Amber thumped back into the seat, her eyes focused on the rumpled blankets. Sherry’s hand was in her view. Fingers lax, then clenching into the sheets. White-knuckling, a breathy whimper ringing in the air. He must’ve made his grand entrance. Yep. The hand and arm rocked forward, then was dragged back, pulling the sheets with it. And repeat, repeat, repeat.

“Ammmmmber…” he sang. “You’re not waaaaatching!”

“You’re horrible…” She whispered. “Why are you being so mean…?”

“Quit your belly-aching.” She could hear the shit-eating grin, the laughter edging each word. “Don’t turn your nose up at free fucking entertainment. Get it? Fucking Entertainment?”

“Really funny…” She didn’t want to look, to shame poor Sherry anymore, but she did anyway. Her eyes locked stoically on the rough copulation. Sherry was spitefully limp, not giving anything back to him, the occasional cry escaping her under his onslaught.

“You girls are such stick-in-the-muds…” He scoffed. Hips slamming forward, her buttocks rippling from the force of impact. Her hair sifted from his loosening fingers, swinging limply by her red face.

“Oh, would you just get on with it!” Sherry growled, her voice jarred by his harsh movements.

“Hey, hey.” He indulged in his spanking mood, chastising her with another hard smack to the rear. “No talking during the show!”

“Then shut up!” she countered. His fingers bit into her hips, pulling her back to meet a set of particularly vicious thrusts. Sherry’s words faltered, breaking off into moans.

“You…you’re hurting her!” Amber protested.

“Nah. Do you know how resilient the vagina is? It’s pretty fucking amazing, really. Even I couldn’t break this thing!” He leaned over to nibble on her shoulder. “Besides…she’s had much worse inside her.” His hand curled under her belly, a finger roughly teasing her clit. She jerked at the touch, brow furrowing.

“Ah…Negan. That hurts…” She gasped. “Stop it!”

“Sorry.” He drew his hand away. His apology was so absurd that Amber couldn’t help the laugh that burst from her, a strange hooting thing. It was even worse because he sounded sincere. Like that was all he had to apologize for.

“Don’t worry about 'pleasuring’ me,” Sherry sneered, “Just get off and get this over with.”

“Wow. Have I really had it wrong all this time…? I’m just supposed to get off and not worry about you?” Negan shot Amber an incredulous look, who was still struggling against another odd burst of laughter. “Does that sound right to you? Hardly seems fair to me…”

Amber gave a half-hearted shrug.

“Fine. Have it your way…” He leaned over, his body covering Sherry’s slender frame with a rough embrace. Arms wrapped her, hands squeezing her breasts. His lips sloppily kissed her neck, thrusting in slow and deep, but increasing in pace. Now his teeth dug into her nape, like a lion biting the scruff of his mating conquest. The mindless beast, driven by lust. A small moan escaped Sherry; she closed her eyes and rocked her hips back to him.

“Fuck…” He breathed out, straightening back up. Hands sliding down to her thighs and gripping, pounding away at her hard, the smack of flesh on flesh like gunshots in the quiet room. Amber grimaced at the roughness of it. Sherry let her head sag, eyes still closed, waiting him out. He was lost in his task now. The quiet air dashed with a mixture of sound; his moans, laced with breathless, random profanities, and Sherry’s sporadic cries.

Amber’s head was aching. She rocked in the chair and watched, eyes unfocused. _I’m not here. I’m not seeing what I’m seeing._ His hand yanking her hair back, her teeth flashing in a grimace. Trying his hardest to break the unbreakable vagina. _Come on… just please… cum already._

Her vision blurred their bodies into two shades of flesh, rocking back and forth, everything was back and forth. They weren’t bodies, just two colors merging, in and out. The sounds and smell of sex – or punishment – or whatever this was – hovering over her head like a fog.

“Oh…fuck…” A beast-like growl, a strange choked groan. “Fuck, fucking ffffuck.”

Well, if that wasn’t the curtain finally closing on this vile little show, she didn’t know what was. Eyes coming back into focus. Then widening in alarm. He was pulling out, he was coming towards her.

_Oh no, what’s he doing… I thought this was over-_

She stared up at him with doe-eyes, stomach knotted in dread.

“Hurry up…” he growled. “Put your fucking lips on me – NOW.”

She almost refused, but her fear was stronger than pride, and she quickly obeyed, lips slipping around the throbbing head. She squinted her eyes closed; tasting strawberries, salt, sweet, a musty aftertaste of female. He thrust, once, twice, she choked - He moaned again, a long shuddering thing, the cock slipping free from her mouth. His big hand stroking rapidly, desperate, his body tensing, every muscle locked. She cringed, eyes squeezing closed as a jet of hot cum hit her cheek, her lips and eyebrows, thick droplets of pearl dotting her breasts.

She huddled in on herself, wiping her forearm across her face, tracked with liquid other than his. Salty semen and tears mingling until she couldn’t tell one from the other.

He tottered to the bed and its soft embrace, laying on his back with his legs dangling onto the floor. “Holy fuck – that was so fucking great…” He mummered dreamily.

“Speak for your self…” Sherry slid from the bed, her eyes ablaze. Her tousled hair strewn across her red face, her backside still brazen scarlet and hand-printed. “You…you…bastard…you fucking shit- I can’t even look at you right now.”

“Oh, get the fuck out,” he said, flipping her the bird lazily. “Blah blah blah, woman. Don’t kill my fucking buzz.”

“I’ll kill something -” She hissed under her breath.

And she left, she got to pick up her clothes and leave. Amber couldn’t – she felt like she was fused to the chair. Her body shaking, her nose running onto the knees she’d drawn up tightly to her chest.

_You’re taking this way too seriously. It was just…_

“What the fuck is _her_ problem?” Negan laughed, but his voice was too shot from breathlessness to go on much, and Amber wasn’t going to respond anyway.

_I mean, that’s what I’m here for, right…?_

She closed her eyes, willing her hammering heart back to normal. The lube felt cold between her legs now, and she just felt… sticky. Used.

_No. It’s not ok. That he treated me like this. I’m not a piece of porno meat.  
Sex is one thing. This is… something else._

His loud breathing diminished to the soft and imperceptible, the tranquil demeanor that belied the beast inside. He hummed as he stood up. She opened her eyes and watched him rise, hunting for his clothing. Pulling on his shirt, jeans, boots. As neat and calm as could be, his only tell of recent pleasure was the flush in his cheeks and the glow in his eyes.

_I should leave. I should tell him off._

But she couldn’t even laugh as he frowned, rubbing at the red stain on the crotch of his jeans. He shrugged, dismissing it for the moment. When he leaned down to her, she cringed away.

“So…” His lips were soft on the crown of her head. He kissed her with the lightness of a whisper. A finger, so tender, tracing along her wet cheek. “…do you still want to throw your beer on me…?”

She stared up at him, stunned.

He winked, blew her a kiss. Scooping his coat up on the way out, he calmly sauntered from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter may come across as dub-con, but unpublished scenes/scenes I haven't finished yet establish that the girls can refuse/end any intimate encounters with Neegs at any time. Amber's lack of assertiveness is a character trait that I want to grow/expand upon throughout the story.


	9. Tear in your Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place right after Chapter 8. / Nova is a slob / Sherry thinks about her early days with Negan / his ex-girlfriend likes garlic.

Sherry peered into the mirror. Frowning, turning her head from side to side. Was she starting to get crow’s feet? She squinted, then traced her finger over the corner of her eye. She smiled, then pouted, watching carefully to see how long it took for the wrinkles around her mouth to smooth back out.

Someone pounded on the bathroom door, and then Nova’s whine rang out. “Sherry, are you almost done? I need to poop!”

“Use the other bathroom.”

“Can’t. Moo Cow’s hogging it.”

Sherry scowled at the mirror. The lines around her eyes were faint, and her smile and frown wrinkles smoothed out fast enough. She’d have to be careful though. Try to stop frowning so much.

_Like that’s gonna happen._

“Sherry!”

She approached the door, but didn’t open it. “Did Negan leave yet?”

“Yeah, he’s gone.” There was a pause, and she could almost hear the smirk forming on Nova’s lips. “Why, are you guys fighting?”

Sherry opened the door, startling the younger woman. Nova stepped back to let her out, her eyes going round as Sherry growled, “What’s going on between Negan and I is none of your business.”

“Whatever.” Nova twisted her lips and slammed the bathroom door behind her.

The hangover was still lurking around Sherry’s temples. She craved caffeine. In the kitchen, she filled the tea kettle and set it on the camp stove. Pining, for the countless time, for the quickness of microwave ovens and coffee makers. Her eyes traveled their small, primitive kitchen. She lingered over the butcher’s block and its sharp blades. It was a damn good thing Negan had gone. She imagined the heft of the knife in one hand, his no-good fucking dick in the other.

_Yeah, it’s real good you cut and fucking run, Neegs. Because that’s exactly what I want to do to your dumb ass._

While the tea kettle slowly warmed, she took her fierce thoughts and went to their communal bedroom. Making her bed. One less annoyance down. She made Amber’s too. The blond was usually good for it, so Sherry would forgive her sloppiness today. They were both suffering from last night’s fun.

She rubbed her aching head, hissing through her teeth as she finally did what she’d been avoiding: looking at the rest of the room.

Shanda’s bed was a half-assed attempt. At least she’d tried. Jazzi’s was military impeccable. But on her nightstand, proudly erect like a piece of art… was a large purple dildo.

She hissed again. “How many times have I told her not to leave that shit out?”

She wasn’t about to touch Jazzi’s nighttime companion, but she rounded Shanda’s bed to fix it, and her foot plowed directly into a mug filled with paint-tinted water. A mess of paintbrushes went scattering everywhere.

“Damn it! Ugh!”

After cleaning that, she pivoted slowly to face the assault to her senses… the elephant in the room.

Nova’s corner.

She would claim the corner had been struck by a Category Five hurricane… but she’d seen it worse. So…a Category Three, then. Her cranky, hungover brain began to compile the offenses.

Blanket: a rumpled heap, mostly off the bed. Stuffed animals strewn all around. The nineteen-going-on two year old’s stuffed puppy on her pillow, shooting its stuffed tongue Sherry’s way. Dirty lingerie and clothes ringed the bed like a filthy perimeter fence.

_Keeping the fucking disease in? Or keeping us out for our own safety?_

Her nightstand was littered with crumb-filled plates, stacked precariously. Coffee mugs of scientific experiments: inch-deep liquid, congealed and spotted with mold. Empty snack wrappers, lighters, unfurled rolling papers for joints. A hairbrush, bristles clogged with the long brown strands of Nova’s hair. Opened tubes of lipstick, tampon wrappers, and a blurry Polaroid of what Sherry was _sure_ was a Negan dick pic.

She put her hands on her hips and glared at the mess, as if she could shame it into nonexistence.

It didn’t work.

The kettle whistled from the kitchen. She hurried towards the promise of coffee. The whistle stopped before she entered, and she found Nova pouring herself a cup of the water.

Her hands flew to her hips. “Fucking excuse me? I made that for me!”

“Wow, bite my head off!” Nova shrieked. “There’s enough for two!”

“That isn’t the point. You should ask first before just taking it!”

“Fine, can I have some?”

Sherry didn’t answer; she leaned over and grabbed Nova’s arm, pulling her along. “Come here. I have something to show you.”

She thrust Nova through the door of their bedroom, aiming a finger over at the pigsty. “Look at that.”

“What am I looking at?”

“It’s a fucking dump! How old are you?! Three? Clean this goddamn cesspool!”

Nova wrenched her arm away. “It’s _my_ space, I’ll keep it however I want! You clean it if you don’t like it! No, on second thought, I don’t want you touching my stuff.”

“I don’t _want_ to touch it! It’s filthy. You’re going to attract rats!”

“It’s not that bad, gimmie a break! Rats? Come on!”

“It _is_ that bad!” Sherry itched so bad to give Nova a good hard shove, maybe punch her right in that smart-ass mouth… “You’re a pig, and we are all sick of putting up with your disgusting mess!”

Nova’s lips twisted. “You think you can boss everyone around. Well, _fuck you_. I ain’t cleaning shit!”

“You don’t want to be bossed around?” Sherry snarled to the girl’s back as Nova started to leave the room. “You want to be an adult? Then stop acting like a fucking three year old and pick up after your damn self. That’s what an adult does. You can play sexytimes all you want with Negan, but this shit shows how much of a _child_ you really are.”

“You’re just fucking hung-over, and you’re mad at Negan! That ain’t my fault!” Nova’s voice was rising into her indignant, childish wail, and her guilt-tripping tears were starting to flow. “It ain’t my fault you two can’t get along! You’re taking it out on me because you’re mad!”

Sherry sunk onto her bed, putting a hand to her temple. Nova stamped out of the room.

Sherry flopped back. She winced, trailing a hand along her hip. She could feel the spots where Negan had dug his fingers in, but when she looked, she didn’t see any bruising. Her insides were sore. There hadn’t been enough lube to ease the pounding he’d given her. She squinted her eyes closed, rubbed her temples again. _Asshole. Why am I here… why do I even stay here…_

A few moments later, she slid from the bed, swaying dizzily as blood rushed to her head. She went to the kitchen. Nova had poured the water back into the tea kettle. She was sitting at the table, eating a pop-tart.

Sherry sighed and poured two glasses. “You want coffee?”

“No. It’s your water.”

Another sigh. “Do you want coffee or not? Do you want tea?”

Nova glared down at the second foil-wrapped pastry. “I said _no_.”

“Look.” Sherry stirred in her instant coffee, then turned to look at the teen. “You’re right. I yelled at you because I’m upset over other things. It wasn’t right, ok? I’m sorry.”

Nova continued to glare, but Sherry knew her apology was getting through. The little Princess loved being buttered up, and she really loved winning an argument.

“I want cocoa,” Nova said.

Sherry turned back and fixed the second cup, rolling her eyes. She set it before the teen, fetched a package of pop-tarts for herself, then sat down with her coffee.

“Thanks…” Nova sipped the cocoa. “Maybe I can… pick up a little…”

“Just… at least get the dirty dishes out. And put your laundry in the bin. I’ll take care of them.”

“Ok.”

“And sweep up the crumbs.”

“Now you’re pushing it.”

“Nova…”

“Ok, I’ll sweep up the dumb crumbs…” Nova smirked as she bit into the pastry, sending more crumbs flying onto the kitchen table.

And because she could do nothing else… Sherry laughed.

* * *

* * *

Third cup of coffee in hand, Sherry sank onto the couch in the sitting room. She picked up the book she’d been reading earlier before she’d been pulled into Negan’s bed. Her headache had receded to a mild throbbing, more annoying than painful. Still, it made it hard to focus on the words.

Nova emerged from the bedroom with two mugs in one hand and stack of plates in the other. She took it to the kitchen and came back with the broom. Sherry gave her an approving nod.

She sighed and laid back on the couch, pulling the fleece blanket from the back. A little nap sounded great. She shifted her hips with a slight groan. Negan had clearly been showing off his male prowess in front of Amber… because Sherry was _still_ sore.

“Stupid asshole…” she muttered, and closed her eyes.

She drowsed, but didn’t fall fully asleep. She remembered when she and Negan had drank together. Her memory wasn’t as hazy as she’d told Amber. She remembered him… and she’d held her tongue for the sake of his privacy…

And for the fact that she was such a fool, such an _idiot_ to have ended up here.

* * *

* * *

It was before she was wife one-of-five, before she was even a ‘wife’ to Negan at all. Back when she’d gone up the back stairs to his apartment, hoping she wouldn’t be seen, back when storage closets beheld the sounds and smells of her illicit trysts with the Savior Leader.

They’d been in the Penthouse sitting room. It had rained all day, and the dreary skies were fading into evening gloom. They, however, were not pulled down by the grey pallor. They were bright and giggly, goofy with drink. Then Negan had implored her, with a slight slur to his voice, “Hey, you wanna give me head…?”

“No…if I put anything in my mouth right now, I’ll probably barf.”

“Oh…well, jerk me off then..” He said, and unzipped his pants.

“Mmmm. Hey there, Mr Dick,” she said, and he laughed, and him laughing made her laugh even more. “I’m not a babysitter. You better not leave your kids all over my couch.”

“What…?” Negan was confused. The limitations of his drunk brain dropped even lower when she curled her hand around and began to stroke his cock. He let out a groan.

“You do this with other women?” She asked, frowning hard. Jerking him was taking all her concentration. She stopped to take another long sip of booze.

“No way. You’re the first.”

“You’re full of shit…” She hiccuped. She laughed, kissing his neck.

“…maybe. But I didn’t like them like I like you,” he said, and his cheeks flushed.

“Awww…” She continued to pump his dick, and he didn’t last long. The alcohol made it harder for him to control himself. He moaned as he spurted onto her hand, and she wiped the mess off on the couch. She thought, vaguely, that that was kind of gross, but her drunken mind didn’t much care.

He put his dick back in his pants, and she curled up against him. She swigged from the bottle and passed it to him. He drank more, letting out a large belch.

“Yuck…” She burped too, then clenched her hand over her mouth. Whoa. She was just on the edge of puking.

“You’re wasted…” he said. “You gonna fuckin’ hurl?”

“Naw…” She poked his ribs. “Yer drunk too.”

“I fuckin’ ain’t!” He jumped from the couch. “Look at this. I can walk a straight goddamn line.” He tottered across the living room.

“That’s pretty crooked.”

“You’re drunk! You can’t tell straight from crooked.” He scowled. “Look at this shit. I can fucking dance.” She couldn’t tell if he was dancing or having a seizure.

“What the hell is that?” She fell over on the couch, laughing. “That’s the worst dancing I ever saw!”

“Fuck you…” He put his arms over his head and gyrated his hips like a stripper. “I’m sexy…”

She laughed even harder as he came back towards the couch and walked right into the end table.

“Where’d that come from?” He whined, rubbing his knee.

“It was there the whole time, moron.”

He flopped onto the couch next to her. The bouncing of the cushions jostled her stomach and she put her hand to her mouth again.

“You think I’m sexy, right?”

“I just jerked you off, didn’t I?”

“That doesn’t mean you think I’m sexy.”

“I think you’re sexy.”

He chuckled and nuzzled his face into her neck. “I think you’re really sexy.”

“Thanks.” She wrapped her arms around his strong neck. One hand stroking his hair…it was so smooth and silky, it felt good on her fingers. “Did you mean that, when you said you liked me…?”

“Yeah.” He wiggled out of her hands and reached for the bottle. Chugging a long swig, grimacing and belching. “I really like you, Sher-Bear.”

She exploded into more giggles. “Sher-Bear?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Ok, Neegsy-Weegsy.”

He smirked. “Call me that, and I won’t like you anymore.”

She drank more from the bottle, even though she knew it was a mistake. They were almost finished with it. Her stomach heaved dangerously when she swallowed. “How much do you like me?”

“A lot.” His face went somber and he reached out to ruffle her hair.

She leaned her head onto his chest with a sigh. “I really like you too…” She mumbled. He plucked the bottle from her hand and she could feel him swigging it.

“We really like each other.” He burped. “Maybe you should move in with me.”

“You mean that?”

“Yeah. Why not?” He raised his eyebrows, and his lips spread in a big goofy grin, like he was ridiculing his display of emotion. “You’re a pretty good fuck, and I won’t have to go looking for you to get some…”

She punched his arm. “Pig.”

“Oink.”

“Dumbass!”

“Drunken whore.” He stuck the tip of his tongue out at her, swigged, and passed the bottle back to her.

* * *

* * *

The bottle was drained, an empty husk of glass upon the floor. Negan couldn’t fool her this time as he walked his 'straight’ line. It was as crooked as the politicians who used to populate this area. She coughed a laugh. Those sorry fucks had all been crapped out of a Walker’s ass by this point.

“Good riddance,” she hiccuped. “What a fittin’ end.”

“What the fuck you talkin’ about?”

“All the fuckin’ assholes. Corrupt, dirty…guys. They’re dead now.”

“Yeah.” Negan clearly didn’t understand her, but he nodded sagely. Swaying on his bare feet. “Yeah, you’re fuckin right. Dead as fucking doornails!” He frowned hard, and sat down abruptly on the floor. Concentrating on talking and standing at the same time was much too hard. “What the goddamn fuck does that mean? _'Dead as a doornail’_? I wasn’t aware doornails were fucking alive to begin with.”

“They were never alive. So you can’t get any deader than that.”

“Fuckin’ shit, that’s stupid.” He hiccuped and held his stomach. “Fuck…this shit’s gonna be coming up soon. I can fucking feel it.”

“Yeah.” Just thinking of puking was making her nauseous. Her stomach lurched inside her like a wild creature. She swore it was trying to climb up her throat. Latching her arms around, she tried to keep it inside. A moan coming from her throat. The euphoria of drink was nearly at its end; it was time for the misery to begin.

Negan’s eyes were bright, hooked on her. He lurched to his feet, his teeth shining in a snarl. She blinked at him. “Who are they?” he growled. “Tell me.”

“What are you talking about?” There was a definite slur in her voice. She watched Negan swaying on his feet, and fought the urge to laugh. Laughing would probably lead to puking.

“The dirty fuckin’ fucks. The ones you said were dead.”

She racked her brain, trying to remember.

“…any of them alive?” His eyes went dark, the snarl bloodthirsty. “Any of them hurt you… I’ll fuckin’ kill them. Point me their fuckin’ direction. Any way you want me to do it… I will. Fast, slow. Fuckin’ just say it.”

“What are you talking about?” She swore she’d just said that. “… No one’s hurting me. You don’t hafta kill anyone.” She made the mistake of chuckling, and her stomach heaved.

He stumbled towards her. “You lyin’ to me? What about that asshole husband of yours? I don’t like his fuckin’ face. Is he hurting you? I’ll fucking rip his goddamn skin right off his bones-”

“Stop it!” She yelled. “You’re acting fucking… maniacal. You ain’t gonna kill anyone, now sit your ass down.”

Negan snorted. The snarl twisting up into a smile. “Ok, babe. Whatever you say.” He let his long legs fold back down to a sitting position, the motion graceful despite his drunkenness.

She groaned a little, shifting on the couch. Vomiting wasn’t an if, it was a when.

Negan laughed from the floor. “…I didn’t fuckin’ scare you, did I?”

“No. You big fucking puppy dog. You don’t scare me.”

“I don’t wanna…” he hiccuped. “…scare you.” His eyebrows drew together. “Shit. Shit…” He leaned over on his hands and knees, and Sherry watched his ribcage convulse upwards, the painful press of tendons on his neck. A puddle of puke hit the plush carpet and he groaned.

“Ughhh…” She looked away, fighting a losing battle. “Mpph…” She managed to get off the couch, her own kneeling pose mimicking his. Another puddle of vomit hit the carpet.

“Not my rug…” He whined, and stood up shakily, making his way over to the other couch. Sherry tottered over. They sat on opposite ends of it, looking at each other. Simultaneously, they both wiped their mouths, and then laughed.

Oh shit!“ Negan exclaimed, his eyes bright again. "You know what? This reminds me of a girlfriend I had in high school. You want to hear some seriously funny shit?”

“I don’t want to hear stories about your exes,” she snorted.

“Oh my fucking…” he chuckled, then gripped his stomach and burped. “No, no. You _gotta_ fuckin’ hear it. It’s like… one of the most embarrassin’ goddamn moments of my life.”

If he was willing to share that, then she was willing to hear. “Ok.”

“Heh.” He settled back against the armrest, stretching his legs out. They invaded her space, and she rearranged herself so her legs were entwined between his. “So, her name was Beth, right? One day, she’s like: _'You loser, why are you spending so much time at the library?’_

_'I’ve got a report due. I have to keep my fuckin’ grades up. I want to actually fucking graduate, you know.’_

And it was true I had some school shit to do, but the real reason I was at the library was I found this awesome section with fuckin… fucking books. Like 'How to’ sex books!” Negan’s eyes went wide and Sherry had to giggle. “So, I was studying hard… on how to eat pussy. I always fuckin’ wanted to, but now I was learning how so I didn’t look like a complete fucking loser when I finally got down to it.”

“Down to it,” she snorted.

“Yeah! So I studied this goddamn book and I was pretty fuckin’ confident I could get the job done. We had my room to ourselves a few days later. Had some fucking cheap-ass booze. We got plastered, which was good, cause I was nervous as fucking hell. She took her clothes off, wanting me to fuck her, which was just what I wanted.”

“What a romantic.”

“You know it.” Negan shifted on the couch. His big feet on either side of her hips. She lightly drew her fingers over the arch of one and he jerked. “Fuck no. No tickling. I hate that shit.”

“Ok.” She rubbed his foot roughly, easing the tickled nerve. “Keep going. So you’re naked with this chick.”

“Right. We’re naked, it’s great. I say _'let me show you what I’ve really been studying’_ , and I make my way down south. Oh man, she was excited. So, I start going to town with all my book skills. I even knew the general area of her clit!”

“That’s good.”

“She was loving it.” His voice took on a girlish tone. _“'Oh, Negan! Yes! I love you!’”_

“Uh huh.”

“…ok, but keep in mind, I was fuckin’ wasted. So, I don’t know if it was the booze, or what. But let me tell ya, Beth was Italian and her family ate a _lot_ of Italian shit. A lot of _garlic_. Let me tell ya, she was goddamn _pungent_.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Ewwww.”

He shuddered. “It was kind of like eating a snatch made out of lasagna. Like… her lips were the noodles and-”

Sherry smacked his leg. “Yuck! Do I want to hear this? You don’t have to be so… descriptive!”

“It gets better!” He held up a finger. “So, I’m feeling sick as a dog on booze. Fucking chowing on the Italian buffet. She’s moaning, but in the meantime,I’m fucking _barfing_. Puked all over her fucking pussy.”

“Oh. My. God.”

“I was so goddamn nauseated, but she’s still fucking moaning! I didn’t want to disappoint her, so I tried to keep going. Like, maybe she wouldn’t notice.” He shook his head sadly. “I just couldn’t do it. Then she noticed the smell. Heh. _'What’s that?!’_ She figured it out, and yelled at me to get off her. So I do, and she starts punching me, the fucking bitch. She lands a good one right in my gut. I tell her to stop, but she whacks me again, and this time she got a fucking faceful, and not the kind she was used to either.”

He leaned his head back and laughed. “Holy fuck! Even her eyelashes were covered in it! I bet her hair smelled for days!”

“That’s probably the grossest story I’ve ever heard.” She worked her foot up under his shirt, resting it on his belly. She could feel it gurgling. She smirked. “So…how’d your relationship go after that?”

“She dumped my ass.” He smirked. “Bitch wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. She goes around telling her girlfriends what I did, but they don’t believe her. I mean, who admits to havin’ their fucking pussy puked on? They did believe that I liked to go muff diving, though, and before I know it, I’ve got my face planted between another pair of legs. And this time, I _wasn’t_ drunk.”

“It’s nice that you found such a great hobby.”

“Yep. Still love it to this day.” He winked.

“Heh. Well maybe after we sober up, you can show me your skills.”

“I’ve already shown them to you.” Negan frowned, and she chuckled.

“This drink’s makin’ me forget. You’re gonna have to show me again.” She wanted him to be well sober so she didn’t end up with a puked-on pussy too, but she was already shifting her hips, imagining just how damn good that mouth of his was.

He put his hand on the foot she had under his shirt. She squeaked as the rough skin of his thumb rubbed her insole. He chuckled and stopped, then cast her an earnest smile. “…I can show you plenty… if you live with me.”

She blinked, surprised he was suggesting it again. _He must be really serious._ “I already have a place to live.”

The third floor of Sanctuary. Two cots. Hers and Dwight’s, and lately when she slept, she’d been facing away from him.

If she weren’t drunk, she knew she’d be feeling guilty now.

“Doesn’t have a view like this.” He motioned in the general direction of the windows. “Think about it, ok?”

She could feel the prickle of familiar heat in her eyes. Shit, she was going to be a weepy drunk… she was going to turn into a blubbering fool in front of him.

Negan’s smile abruptly faded, as his stomach gave a loud gurgle. It spared her from the indignity of crying. “Ugh, it’s coming up… clear the fucking deck!” He lurched to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom. The sounds of his retching made her stomach gurgle in symbiotic misery.

Seconds later, she was in the bathroom beside him, holding her gut and feeling the convulsions take over her. He supported her as she knelt, his hand holding her hair back. She emptied her stomach into the bowl and remained hovering over it, tears and mucus streaking her face as she sobbed from the sheer physical misery of it.

She leaned back against the wall, panting. Feeling _awful_. Maybe she was feeling guilty after all. And she was definitely turning into that blubbering fool. “I hate this part…” She cried.

“I know.” He shifted close to her, his big hand rubbing her back. “S'ok. We just gotta ride it out.” He moaned. “Shouldn’t of drank the whole bottle, I suppose.”

“Heh. I suppose not…” She rested her head back against the wall. Narrowing her eyes against the glare of the oil lamp perched on the toilet bowl. She knew in reality, it was a dim illumination, but right now it felt like a sunbeam assaulting her vision.

He moved away to flush the toilet, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Then he slumped against the sink cabinet, his bright eyes locked on hers. She flushed, wiping her face with her sleeve. She was a mess – but he didn’t seem to agree.

“Why are you looking at me like that…?”

“You’ve got eyes like… like a mermaid.”

“A mermaid?” She let out a laugh, which was far too loud in the small space of the bathroom. Negan’s cheeks went red, and he looked away from her, before nodding.

“Yeah…they’re green like the fucking ocean. Y'know those mermaids who killed guys…? Like, they fucking sang to them…?”

“Sirens.” She almost felt bad for his sudden awkward adoration, but the words were endearing too. His version of clumsy poetry.

“Right…” He mumbled. “Sirens. They sang to guys… lured them to the water… and fucking drowned them.”

“Heh. So you’re saying I’ve got eyes like a psychopathic murder-mermaid.”

“When you put it that way, that sounds pretty fucking badass.”

She chuckled, then grimaced at the pain that shot through her sore stomach. “You’re right. It _does_ sound badass. Thanks, Neegsy-Weegsy. Compliment accepted.”

“Don’t call me that.” He was smiling. But in space between heartbeats, he’d lowered his gaze, his face dropping out of the cheerful lines and into something more somber. She watched him trace a finger along the one of the floor tiles. He rubbed his hand over his face, then flitted his eyes to hers again.

“You ok?”

He took a deep breath, and shrugged in an almost apologetic fashion. “You uh…” He coughed. “You remind me of her.”

“Her…who?”

He shook his head, staring at the tiles. He coughed again, and she could smell the sickness of drink on the both of them. She doubted that was the cause for his watering eyes.

“…I dunno…Sher-Bear…” He rubbed his temple and mumbled. “I fuckin’ want you…and then I think… it ain’t right because you aren’t _her_ , but then…it’s the fuckin’ same thing all over again and…”

“Sssssh.” His words were stirring up the guilt inside her. Now that she’d expelled some of the alcohol… it was leaving room for the shame to creep in. And maybe it wasn’t just guilt and shame. Her mermaid eyes flared even greener at the thought of this woman. This _ghost_ who still had her grip on him. “…Whoever she is… you’re not with her anymore, are you…?”

“No. I uh… I can’t be. You know. But… I want to, sometimes. I… miss her.”

A bead of salt water hung off the edge of his chin, then dropped. The plumbing of his eyes did work, after all.

“Shit.” He sat upright abruptly, scrubbing at his cheek like he’d been touched by acid. “We’re fucking _wasted._ ” His face split with his wide, easy grin. “We ought to hit the fuckin’ sack.”

She could almost imagine she’d imagined it. He stood up on shaky legs and reached down for her hand.

She felt the wetness of his tears on her skin.

He led her towards the bedroom.

“Who were you talking about…?” She was so tired, suddenly. Her voice just a weird, mumbling slur.

“No one. Forget about it.” He managed to navigate them to the bed, and the second she flopped onto it, she was nearly asleep.

“…Negan…?”

“Hmm?” He was right on the edge too. She could feel the heat radiating from him, like her own personal space heater.

“…did you love her…?”

Silence.

“Do you-”

He began to softly snore, and whether it was feigned or real, she could not tell, or even begin to ponder it. Drunken slumber reached up, yanked down the lids of her eyes, and dragged her down into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about Negan's gross story. And all the puking. Hahaha!


	10. Campaign Vermin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tale of violent Negan.  
> (TW for rape/sex slavery implications/female abuse. Also, violence.)

Evening. The sky outside was darker than usual. A storm coming in. Their rain catchments were sure to be full. The sitting room was firelit and cozy.

Negan drowsed in his chair, his book ’ _The Art of War_ ’ held loosely in his dangling hand. Occasionally, he’d wake up and pretend to be reading, but he only got a few lines in before the snoring took over.

“Did you hear about Jen?” Sherry asked. The girls were curled up and drowsy.

“Who..?” Amber was more familiar with faces than names.

“You know her. Cook in the kitchen. Blond ponytail.”

“Oh yeah. She’s nice.”

Negan opened one eye, then shifted his head into a more comfortable position.

“I saw her on the way up. She seemed really upset, so I asked what was wrong. She’d seen Doctor Wells, and he thinks she might have breast cancer.”

“Oh.” Amber’s face fell. “That’s awful.”

“I know.” Sherry gnawed her lip.

Shanda looked downwards. “My Gran died of that. And she had actual treatments.”

“That’s what I’m thinking. How are we going to treat things like this…now? It’s not like we can do chemo or precise surgery or…”

Negan’s book thunked to the floor. He rose from the chair, too fast, and put a hand to his clearly head-rushed skull. “Fuck…I’m zonking out over here. I think I’m gonna hit the sack. ‘Night…”

The girls ignored him as he hastily retreated into his bedroom. Amber frowned as Sherry and Shanda continued to lament. She swore she heard his bedroom lock click.

Nova looked up from her crosswords. “Jenny has a crush on him. I wonder if they boned.”

A scowl settled on Sherry’s brow. “She does not have a crush on him.”

“Peh. She’s always smiling at him, and touching his arm when she sees him. She totally wants-”

“She’s just grateful. For bringing her here, saving her-”

“That’s more than grateful, she’s fucking hot for him!”

“Not _everyone_ feels the need to repay Negan’s good deeds with sex.”

Amber shifted uncomfortably. Nova bit her lip hard, her eyes welling with tears. Amber expected a childish wail to emit the youngest wife, but Nova’s voice came out small, quivering. “…you’re a bitch, Sherry.”

_What’s this all about?_ Amber was clueless.

‘Yeah, I’m a bitch,” said Sherry, “Or maybe I’m just saying what everyone thinks.”

“Fuck you!” Nova cried, and Amber scrambled to diffuse the hostility oozing between the two women.

“Wh…What did Negan do? For Jen? You said he saved her?”

Sherry held eyes with Nova for another second, then shook her head and sighed. “Yeah. He saved her from a bunch of assholes. He won’t admit it, but he’s probably upset to hear she’s sick. Not because ’ _they boned’.’_ After what she went through…getting cancer on top of it?”

Nova slumped back onto the couch, deciding not to pursue the battle. “Wow, you’d almost think life was supposed to be _fair_ or something. Instead of trying to screw you over until the day you croak.”

“I think it was last summer. That he found her….” 

* * *

 

The small group of Saviors burned across the countryside, investigating the various buildings on the outskirts of the suburbs. Gas stations and drug stores, the occasional fast food joint or auto shop. Most were already thoroughly scavenged, but sometimes they found a useful item or two. Along the way, they decimated small groups of walkers… and sometimes they swore they were killing the same ones over and over again. The plague was never-ending.

They were also alert for another sort of trouble: survivors. Groups could mean settlements; groups could be danger. The bad seeds floated on the wind and always seemed to land close together. Bands of wicked men, marauders and rapists, scrounging for food and worse… for entertainment.

The Saviors did not tolerate these groups. They were not good for their extorted communities. They were not people fit for the world.

And they were an excellent outlet for the violence and blood thirst that roiled their veins.

Today, they hit the scumbag jackpot.

“Hold up. Stop the truck.”

Seth hit the brakes. Dwight and Olaf pulled alongside.

“What’s up, boss?” Dwight asked, and Negan pointed to the treetops, where white smoke drifted.

“Got ourselves some travelers.”

They traveled down the road, looking for a better vantage point. They found one on a rise in the road; it looked straight to where the smoke emanated. An old gas station, possibly derelict even before the ZA, and now completely overgrown.

Negan and Seth exited the truck, looking down at the camp. They were still too far to make out details, so Dwight lifted his crossbow and peered through the long-range scope.

“Looks like three…no, five guys. Unless more are inside…that place looks like it’s about to collapse at any minute though.”

“Let me see.” Negan motioned for the bow and when Dwight hesitated, he growled, “Hand it over!”

Dwight sighed and relinquished the bow, flinching as Negan sneered, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna break your little toy. Wouldn’t want to make you fucking cry even more than you already do.”

Dwight scowled. Negan peered at the group for a moment. “Hmmm. Looks like ordinary fuckers…oh. Hold up.” The muscle in his jaw tightened. His teeth exposed in a smile, the horrible one, the one they all knew meant trouble. “Heh. Scratch that. Looks like we have some vermin to dispose of.” He handed the bow back to Dwight. “Give it another look-see. By the trees.”

The sight made Dwight’s teeth grind, and he lowered the bow with a dark brow. “Yeah. Gotcha.” He gestured to Olaf. “We’re on it, boss.”

“Good.” Negan was still smiling, his eyes glittering. “I don’t want one hair on my pretty little head touched, Dwight, not like the last time-”

“Yeah, I got it,” Dwight said, voice hard.

Negan got back in the truck, as Dwight muttered to Olaf, “…if he keeps his big ass out of the way this time, maybe that won’t happen-”

“I can hear you, Dwight,” Negan grinned out the open window. “And I promise, I’ll keep my 'big ass’ well out of the way. 'K?”

Dwight flustered. “Er. Right.” He saluted as the truck rumbled on down the road.

Seth drove boldly right into the camp. The men had strung up several classic Walker alarms of cans and wire between them and the darkness of the nearby forest. A fire burned between the rusted-out pumps, and several rabbits roasted over the flames. Beer cans in hand, the men looked up as the Savior’s truck rolled in, bumping over muddy ruts and lurching to a halt. They reached for their rifles and pistols in an offhand way, still downing their drinks as they aimed at the newcomers.

Negan leaned out the open window, a goofy grin on his face. His voice was the slow affected drawl of someone less than mentally efficient. “Hi, guys! How’s it fuckin’ goin’?”

One of the men, a dirty-blond with a heart-shaped face, set his beer down and sneered. “Roll your truck on outta here, man. You’ve stayed alive this long…if you wanna keep it that way, then git goin’.”

“You don’t have to be mean,” Negan looked baffled at the hostility. “We’re all in the same boat out here… jus’ trying to stay alive, maybe having a little fun too. Mostly tryin’ to have fun, though…”

“Yeah, well we ain’t interested in peace and love, retard.” Heart-face didn’t lower his gun. “Roll out or things are gonna get ugly.”

Negan scratched his head, eyebrows raised in chagrin. “Well, ok. We’ll go…it’s just…I see you gots some food there-”

Heart-face cocked his pistol and aimed it at Negan’s forehead.

“…and we just raided a drugstore. We got some good shit. Plenty to go around. We could all sit togetha, eat, and have a nice buzz. We ain’t seen other people in a while.”

The gun stayed up for a moment, then lowered. The leader looked back at his men. “All right. What do you say, guys? Meal and 'dessert’? Maybe share a few stories? Retard here is askin’ nicely, and if he wants to share-”

“Sure, Doug. That sounds cool. Long as they don’t try any shit.”

Negan looked at the two men squeezed beside him in the idling truck. They shook their heads. “Nah. We try to keep our noses clean…”

“…unless it’s cocaine powder,” Seth said and giggled, a sound at odds with his fiercely shaven skinhead and bold tattoos.

The three men exited the truck, with Doug and his goons watching them carefully. Upon seeing Negan and his men had no visible guns, they seemed to relax – and they all shuffled towards the fire.

“No guns?”

“We had a pistol, but we ran outta bullets,” said Negan.

“Wow, that’s tough shit,” said Doug. “Hard to believe you numbnuts survived this long. Must be dumb luck.” He snorted and gestured to one of his men. “Get some more of the bunnies on the fire.”

The man complied, and another man split up the meat that was already cooked – between the eight men it wasn’t much.

While the meat was passed out, Negan peered over towards the treeline. There was a derelict sign, supported by two metal poles, that announced the gas station’s name: 'El Cheapo’s Gas and Convenience Store’. Chained to it were two naked women.

“Heeey…” Negan waved his little rabbit drumstick in their direction. “You guys got toys!”

“Hell yeah.” A lanky black man with tangled dreads leered at the captive females. “Got lucky. Caught those two about a week back. Been havin’ a good time with them ever since.”

“I’m jealous…” Negan bit into the rabbit and spoke through his mouthful. “…every time we see chicks, they’re with a group and are too well-guarded and shit. We can’t git one alone.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, leaving a smear of grease on the leather. “Hey, can I go look at 'em?”

Doug shrugged. “Sure, man.”

Dreads stood and strode with Negan over to the women. They stopped before the shorter one, a malnourished brunette. Her arms trussed above her head, naked knees turned inwards. Blood on her thighs, bruises on her face, the marks of grabbing fingers black and blue on her breasts. Wide blood-shot eyes stared up at Negan in horror, and she tried to pull away.

“Hi,” he said cheerfully. “What’s your name?”

Behind him, Doug’s men laughed. The girl cringed, moaning as his gloved finger brushed her cheek – tears wetting the leather.

Dreads snorted. “Wastin’ water again,” he said. “All she does is cry and…”

Negan’s finger played softly over her lips, and the acidic odor of urine filled the air. She sobbed, a stream of yellow mingling with the blood on her legs.

“…piss. Yep.”

“Yuck.” The Savior leader giggled. “Damn. You fucked her up so much she doesn’t even know her own name. And she pees. Heh.”

“She don’t need a name, does she? We got plenty we made up for her and her little friend over there.” Dreads sneered and then leaned over and smacked her abused breast. “Shut up. Fuckin’ crying again. Bitch.”

Negan looked over at the other girl, grinned, laughed. “…Maybe yer boss will lend us out one later?”

“Maybe. Depends on the shit you got. Come on.” They walked back to the fire, where the rabbits were nearly done. Negan sat with his long legs crossed Indian-style. Doug leered at him.

“You like our girls, retard?”

“Yeah.”

“Yep. They’re fucking hot, but they’re getting a bit worn out.” He shrugged. “Looks like the food’s done.”

While one of his men began to slice up the steaming animal with a machete, Doug looked over Negan and his men. There was a cruel smile playing his lips. “So, what’s your name, 'tard? I mean, I guess I could keep calling you 'tard’, but now that we’re all friends…”

“I’m Negan,” said the Savior Leader, then gestured to his men, “That’s Seth and that’s John.”

Doug was non-reactive to the unusual name – non-reactive in the sense that he didn’t run screaming. “Knee-gan? That’s a different name.” His lips quirked, but he said nothing further. The hacked-up rabbit was brought over on a beat-up cookie sheet, the meat steaming and smelling delicious.

“Oh yum,” Negan said, licking his lips.

“Yeah.” Doug wafted the scent towards his nose, and then shot a long look at his men. His lips were still smiling, and it was an unpleasant sight. “Thing is…we don’t really want to share. This is the best catch we’ve had in weeks. So, you know what? I don’t think we’re gonna.”

“What do you mean?”

Doug snarled. “I mean, you and your faggot buddies sit here and just trust us? How do you know we ain’t gonna shoot you and take your drugs and truck for ourselves?” His pistol came up again. Guns lifting all around. “Maybe we’ll even pass your 'tard ass around and tie you up with the other bitches.”

Confusion and hurt lined the Savior Leader’s face. His eyes were wide, lips pouting. “But…w-w-why…why would you do that? We’re bein’ nice. You ain’t gotta be so mean…”

“Oh my God. How did you live this long? Guess you never ran across anyone, or they were all just as stupid as you.” Doug cocked the pistol. “Stand the fuck up, faggot. You too, all of you…up. And don’t move. Or move, I don’t care. Your ass is grass either way.”

Negan and his men quickly climbed to their feet, hands held in the air. John’s eyes flitted nervously back and forth between his leader and Doug, his voice box bobbing. Seth looked grim.

“W-w-wait…” Negan’s voice was a weak plea. “…I just gotta ask you something…”

“Sure, you got a last request? Go for it.”

Three fingers on Negan’s left hand folded down; he grinned, voice suddenly free of the affected, simpleton tone. “…how do you know I don’t have my best snipers watching your stupid fucking ass right now?”

Doug frowned, cocked his pistol and -

It was blown from his hand. He screamed, bloody appendage clasped to his chest, bits of pistol scattering into the grass. His men jumped – two heads were pierced by bullets, skull and brains joining the pistol fragments, two bodies hitting the ground.

Dreads turned to run, but before he could take two steps, a bolt struck him in the back, protruding out from his chest. He gasped and fell to his knees, clutching frantically at the injury.

The last man was slow in raising his rifle, and Seth charged him, grabbing the gun roughly and pushing it down. There was flash of steel – Negan drew his knife and thrust it upwards into the man’s jaw, lifting him off his feet. With a grunt, he turned and flung the man off the blade, blood spraying onto his arms. The man hit the ground and rolled, breath rattling in his throat before he lay still.

Negan wiped the knife on his pants and casually re-sheathed the weapon. “Wow. That was awesome.” His teeth glittered as he stepped towards Doug. The heart-faced leader was bent over, his hand still cradled into his chest. “Oh dear. Did you lose a few fingers? I’ll have to reprimand Olaf…he’s usually a better fucking shot then that.”

“What…what the fuck!? You killed my guys!”

“Uh…yeah.” Negan observed the carnage, still grinning away. “A bit too fast for my taste, but whatever. We still have you, after all.”

Dreads moaned; he was now lying on his side.

“Oh, and that guy.”

The sound of motorcycles came down the road; Dwight and Olaf pulled up alongside the truck. They parked and dismounted, coming over to view their handiwork.

“Hey, boys. Nice fucking shooting.”

Dreads moaned again.

“Hey. Get Lucille for me, would you?” Negan nodded at Dwight, and the crossbowman headed for the truck.

Doug eyed Negan warily. “What the fuck are you planning to do, retard?”

“Oh, shut up with the 'retard’ shit, already.” Negan rolled his eyes. “That’s a fucking offensive word. And by now, it should be pretty fucking obvious that I’m much smarter than you, Dougie-boy. Now sit the fuck down.” He held out his hand, eyes gleaming happily, as Dwight presented the barbed-wire bat.

“And allow me to introduce my best lady friend, here. This is Lucille. She’s a thirsty girl, and Walker blood only keeps her satisfied for so long. It’s like a vampire feeding on cadavers. Sometimes she really needs fresh meat, if you get my fuckin’ drift.” He hummed softly to himself, boots squelching across the bloodied grass.

Dreads’ eyes rolled upwards, whites showing all around the brown iris. Negan’s boots were inches from his head, the bat held lightly in his grip. He tried to talk; blood bubbled from his mouth.

Negan stroked the bat with his gloved hand, holding her affectionately up to his cheek. “Drink up, baby,” he cooed. “This one looks real juicy.”

“Wait-” Doug sputtered, and then cringed -

Lucille came down, hard and vicious, shattering skull bone, smashing brains to a pulp. Dreadlocks soaked in blood, a face decimated as the bat came down again and again. Doug looked away – eyes brimming in terror.

Seth grunted. “Fucked with the wrong retards, didn’t you?” He leaned over and grabbed a hunk of the rabbit meat from the tray, chewing and watching his leader impassively.

“Mmmm…” Negan strode back to the fire, the bloodied bat slung across his shoulders. “Now that Lucille is full and happy, I think I’ll sit a spell. You boys want to join me? This rabbit does look really motherfucking good. I’m fucking starving.”

“Fuckin’ good,” Seth concurred through a full mouth, and he plunked down by the fire. The rest of the men joined him, and Doug looked about uneasily as the Saviors surrounded him in lazy repose, digging greedily into the meat and beer.

They ate in contended silence, save for the occasional grunt or belch; Doug sat stiffly, unable to run with the five pairs of eyes on him.

Negan tossed a bone into the fire, rubbing his hand off on his jeans. “Fuck. How motherfucking rude of me.” He stood and Doug’s eyes followed him, but the Savior Leader’s attention was elsewhere.

The two tied women flinched when the large man approached them. He held his hands out in appeasement, his voice soft. “Don’t fuckin’ freak out, girls. We’re not going to hurt you. We have a settlement with women and children, and you’ll be safe there. Understand?”

The brunette had started to cry again. The blond nodded.

“Good. Easy now.” He eased the knife out, still streaked with blood, and the brunette screamed as much as her cracked voice would allow. She writhed in her bonds as he leaned towards her.

“Whoa, whoa!” He cried, and the blond croaked, “Carla, stop it – it’s ok!”

He took her arms, trying to hold her still. “Just cutting the ropes. Ok?”

She went still, sobbing under her breath. He cut the bonds and she fell to the ground, curling into a ball. The blond stood stoically, letting him free her. She rubbed her sore wrists and crossed her arms over her breasts, watching him warily.

Carla staggered to her feet as Negan turned back, and she suddenly bolted, pounding past the truck and heading down the road. She was surprisingly fast in her malnourished state, evading his grab for her arm with ease.

“Hey!” He yelled. “Where are you going? You’re naked, girl! Get back here!”

The blond screeched for her to stop, but she ignored them all.

Dwight sighed and stood, putting down his beer. “I’ll get her.” He took off down the road, crossbow bobbing on his back. Negan led the blond girl to the truck, where he retrieved a ratty blanket. She covered herself, accepting his offer for food and drink. She sat in the truck, uneasily watching the men as he brought her several hunks of meat and a beer. Then he left her alone, sitting back down among the Saviors.

“Wow. Fuckwad. You did a number on those poor beauties.” He shook his head. “A real man doesn’t have to do that shit for a simple lay. Fuck.”

Doug didn’t answer. Finally, as the men were polishing off the last of the meat, he inquired about his fate. “What are you gonna do to me? You killed my guys. You gonna kill me?”

Negan downed the last of his beer, and belched. “Yeah. Probably. I’ve been mulling it over, honestly. Torture you? Maybe. Don’t know if you’re really worth my time or effort, no matter how much you fucking deserve it. I was also thinking of making a little gift of you. You heard of the Hilltop?”

“No.” Doug’s voice was shaky.

“Ah. Well, they’re a little community.” He chucked the empty can into the fire, waving idly to the west. “Out that way somewheres. And my community has a bit of a partnership with them, only they always pitch a fucking fit over their end of the deal. They don’t like me very much, you see, because they’re lazy fucks who want shit for free and whine when it’s time to pay the fucking piper. We’re the pipers, we clear out the goddamn rats, and they sit behind their safe walls like a bunch of useless lumps.”

Doug starting zoning out during the long tirade; he jolted back to attention when Negan’s long leg lashed out, kicking him in the shin.

“So anyway, I thought: hey, if I handed them over a rapist scumbag piece of shit like you… you, who might’ve grabbed one of their precious daughters or mothers if given a fuckin’ chance… it might calm their titties. They’ll see I’m a nice guy, really.” He scowled, the skin between his eyebrows crinkling. “But no. Those fucking pussies would probably give you a literal slap on the wrist. Let you walk. So fuck that.”

He drew his knife, picking at his fingernails with the tip. The fire was getting low, reflecting red off the blade.

“So, what then?” Doug asked.

Negan shrugged. “I suppose I’ll have to kill you.” He picked up a stick and poked the glowing orange wood of the dying fire. Bits of flaming debris floated upwards. Sparking out – poof. Here and then gone.

Doug was staring at him, his face going white – and Negan leaned over in a casual motion, like an offhand gesture. With one fast, vicious stroke, he stabbed Doug directly through the ribs, straight into the left lung. With a scrape of metal on bone, he withdrew the knife and settled back into his cross-legged position.

The marauder leader bent double, a sucking, gasping sound emerging from him, his hands clutching frantically at the wound. “Oh…oh my God..” He cried in a frog-like croak. He collapsed onto the ground, rolling in pained panic.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” mused the Savior Leader. “Hey, how long do you think it’ll take him to bite it? Any fuckin’ guesses?”

“Five minutes,” said Seth.

“Ten,” said John.

“I don’t know…” Negan looked doubtfully at the frantic man, laying there on his back, his mouth the opened 'O’ of a fish on land. “Do you suffocate first? Die of blood loss? Or drown in your own blood?” He nudged Doug with his foot. “Hey. Which one are you feeling right now? Suffocating or drowning?”

Doug convulsed, trying to thrust his own finger against the wound, stop the air from sucking in and out.

“Fuck. You’re no help. I guess we’ll have to wait and see. They got any more fucking beer?”

* * *

 

Seth was proven wrong, as seven minutes passed and Doug still clung to life. The horrible sucking noises came and went; John went into the woods both to piss and to evade the noise; Seth and Negan continued to chug beer and count down the minutes until Doug’s inevitable passing. There was the crunch of boots on gravel; Dwight came trudging up to the fire. He looked dubiously at the wounded man, then shook his head. “The girl…”

“Did she outrun you? Seriously?”

“No. Ran into some fucking walkers. She…she didn’t even try to avoid them. She just ran right through them, like she didn’t care either way…whether she got away from me, or they got her…” Dwight shakily reached down and snatched up a beer. Popping it, he drained half in one gulp. “Shit! Poor fucking bitch.”

“That’s a fucking shame…” The Savior Leader cast a glance at the truck, where the shadow of the blond sat. She had her head leaned onto the glass; from the sag of her shoulders she appeared to be sleeping. “…well, whatever. We tried, right?”

“Umm…what’s up with him?” Dwight jerked his head at Doug.

“Plugged him in the lung. Waiting to see how long it takes for him to croak. So far, Seth is wrong, and John’s time is just about up…it’s got to have been ten motherfuckin’ minutes by now.”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Stabbed in the lung?” Dwight crushed the empty beer can and hastily reached for another. “That could take hours, man. Are we really going to sit around and wait?”

Negan looked, for a moment, like a child who’d just been informed they were leaving whatever fun thing they were doing – a day at the beach, a trip to the fair. His lips pouted and he looked sullenly at Doug’s prone form. Doug, as if sensing imminent danger, struggled to his feet. His hand pushed to the wound, he took several steps towards the woods. None of the Saviors pursued him; they did not have to. He was back on the ground already.

Dwight sighed quietly, but didn’t push the issue. His discarded food and beer was where he’d left it. He took it and moved out of the range of Doug’s air-sucking gasps.

“Let’s make it a half-hour.” Negan squinted at the sky showing over the dilapidated station. It would be dusk in an hour; they’d have enough light to get back to Sanctuary. “In the meantime, let’s go through their shit, scavenge whatever they have.”

“Sure, boss.” Seth lit a cigarette. “But think Dwight might be right. It’ll probably take him at least a few hours.”

“Meh.” Negan grunted, displeased. He wasn’t about to drag Doug’s sorry ass along with them – but he’d been eager to see him breathe his last.

The group of rapists had a few items of value; matches, bedrolls, some cans of food, and the various guns and ammunition. John and Dwight put everything into the back of the truck and stayed near the vehicle. Doug tried to rouse himself two more times and failed. Negan made a joke – wondered if Doug could smoke a cigarette through his new hole – but none of his men wanted to give up their precious cancer sticks.

Too soon, time was up. Doug still lived.

“Well, I gotta say, I’m fuckin’ surprised. Either you have a goddamn strong will, or that wound just isn’t as deadly as I first surmised. Heh. Whatever. It was a good run, Dougie-boy.” Negan scuffed the ground with a forlorn boot, eyes down-turned. “I’m sorry to see it end, but hey. You were a motherfucking asshole.”

Doug, eyes scared, watched as Negan stepped to the Walker alarm – the clothesline strung with tin cans.

It made an awful racket when a Walker stumbled into it, or when homicidal Negans grabbed hold of it and shook it rapidly.

“What are you doing?” Doug sounded like a dying bullfrog. With great effort, he got to his feet, swaying drunkenly.

Negan grinned, rattling the cans more vigorously, crying out 'Souey! Souey!“

Dwight rolled his eyes at the pig-calls. Then he reached for his crossbow; over Negan’s clamor came the distinctive dry-throat growls of a Walker. Or Walkers, plural.

"Hey!” Negan yelled at him, “Don’t shoot our guests! We’re fuckin’ leaving! So Doug’s gonna need some company!”

Dwight shrugged, shouldered the crossbow and headed for his motorcycle. The other men followed suit, with John reluctantly climbing into the truck bed to avoid disturbing the sleeping woman.

Negan practically skipped over to Doug, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him over to the nice, bright fire. Fire was a lure to the dead. Noise too, and warm rosy meat. This was a Walker’s wet-dream right here.

“No,” Doug gasped. “You can’t-” He gasped and whistled through the stab.

“Sure I can,” Negan quipped cheerfully. His eager eyes focused on the treeline where two walkers awkwardly stumbled into the camp. “But hey..you might have a chance still.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “If you’re really, really fucking quiet.” He winked and whispered. “Ta ta now…”

He jogged over to the truck and vaulted into the bed with easy grace. Rapping Lucille against the cab window, he watched as Doug made a desperate attempt for the woods. As Seth drove off and the motorcycles followed, he saw Doug flail and scream weakly as he was overtaken, as the truck thrummed homeward, he grinned. He had gotten to see Doug breathe his last after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since most of this story takes place inside the Penthouse/Sanctuary through the eyes of the ‘desperate Negan-wives’, there isn’t much room for action. Therefore, I have a few scenes where the girls tell stories of some of Negan’s deeds they’ve either seen firsthand, heard about, or he told them. Plus...I like writing violence. XD


	11. Rhyme Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is stupid goofy shit. I always liked how Comic Negan references literature and when he criticizes the nursery rhyme Humpty Dumpty. So I wrote a short scene based on trashing nursery rhymes. It begins with Sherry asking if Negan will read to the Sanctuary children (the young ones tend to think Negan is pretty cool. LOL!)

“It would really tickle the kids if you were to come read to them.”

“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do less.”

“They look up to you, you’d make them happy.”

“I’m not a den mother to some goddamn rugrats.” Negan picked up Lucille and swung her. Sherry backed away. “Now if they wanna play some ball, that’s a different story.”

“You’d have to watch your language, of course,” said Sherry, ignoring his commentary, “Which he can do, if he puts his mind to it.”

Nova was giggling.

“I said forget it,” Negan said, and then his eyes brightened. “Unless… Are there going to be a lot of hot moms there? Lonely and single, maybe?”

Sherry gave him a sour look, and he laughed. She shook her head and vacated the room, while Nova skipped over to the bookcase. “I think it’d be fun. I’ll come with you! Let’s do it, Neegs!”

“Nah.” He flopped into his chair. “Kids scare me. Too goddamn unpredictable. What if they start crying or shit their fucking pants or something? No fucking thank you.”

Like Sherry, Nova ignored his protests, scouring the bookcase until she found a valid selection. “ _Nursery rhymes and tales from around the world_. Oh, let’s read.” Nova brought over the thick tome and climbed into Negan’s lap. He groaned at the placement of her hand, digging into his crotch as she pushed herself up.

“Oh sorry. Did I squish your balls?”

“Nah. It’s good.” He pulled her further upward, and she wiggled about to get comfortable. His second groan had nothing to do with pain.

She settled, leaning back onto his chest, her head tucked under his chin. She opened the book to a random page.

“ _Mary had a little lamb_ ,” she recited, in a high babyish voice, “ _Its fleece_ -”

“- _was soft as tits_.” Negan interjected, his hand creeping around to cop a feel. She smacked it away, frowning.

“Knock it off. I wanna read.”

“ _And everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go_.”

“ _Mary’s boyfriend fucked the sheep_

_He liked it better -_

_cause the lamb couldn’t speak_.”

“That doesn’t flow very well, and it doesn’t rhyme.” Nova smacked his wayward hand again, and he withdrew it with a grunt. She wiggled again. “This seat is lumpy. Why is it lumpy, Neegs?”

“No fucking clue. Mary and her fucking lamb are boring me to tears. Pick something else.”

“ _Jack Sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean_.”

Negan peered at the ink drawing of the mismatched couple and smirked. “Well, I guess neither one of them is getting oral.”

“ _Rock a bye baby, in the treetop_

_When the wind blows, the cradle will rock,_

_When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall_

_And down will come baby, cradle and all._ ”

His lip twisted. “Who in the fuck writes this shit? A baby in a motherfucking treetop? What kind of dumb cunt of a mother would do that?”

“That’s why it’s rock a _bye_ baby. Because you’ll be saying goodbye to it when it dies.”

“I suppose so.” He started rocking his baby back and forth on his lap, Nova clutching the book tighter as his motions softly jolted her.

“ _Here is the church, here is the steeple,_

_Open the doors and here are the people_.”

“Mmm…” He bit his lip. “I’ve got one:

_Here is my dick, Here is your butt_

_Spread your cheeks wide_

_and take it, you slut._ ”

“Negan!” Nova reached back and smacked his cheek. “You are perverted.”

“Guilty.” He ground down on his lip, lifting his hips up as he continued to rock her. “Fuck, that feels good.”

She wiggled a little, scrunching her nose. She flipped to the next page. “ _Peter Peter Pumpkin eater, had a wife and couldn’t keep her_ -”

“No fucking wonder, he’s eating fucking pumpkin instead of eating pussy-”

“- _He put her in a pumpkin shell, and there he kept her very well._ ”

“Pumpkin shell, huh?” That’s what I should do with Sherry. I certainly can’t seem to fucking ‘keep her’.“

"Maybe you should eat her 'pumpkin’ more often.” Nova ground down on his lap and he let out a groan.

“I eat so much pussy I’m surprised I haven’t fucking turned into one.”

“ _Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall-_ ”

“Skip it…” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t even want to get started on that one.”

She shrugged and turned the page.

“ _Curly Locks, Curly Locks, Wilt thou be mine? Thou shalt not wash the dishes nor yet feed the swine, but sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam and feed upon strawberries, sugar and cream.”_

“That doesn’t sound too far off from your life,” he snorted. “Spoiled little Princess. I don’t think you washed a dish in your fucking life.” He was breathing harder, moving her more insistently upon him.

“Princesses don’t wash dishes.” She frowned. “Ugh. I’m getting sea sick. Stop moving me around.”

He sighed and stopped, leaning his head back against the chair.

“I never get strawberries,” she griped. “Or cream.”

“You want cream? I’ve got plenty of that…” His teeth gleamed.

“I don’t want that sticky nasty stuff.”

He looked affronted. “Nasty? Now I’m self conscious.”

“It’s too salty. I want sweet cream.” She smiled wickedly and ground down onto his lap. “This seat is lumpy. Stop being so lumpy.”

“Just keep grinding like that and it’ll smooth out.”

“Yeah…?”“ She rubbed her butt all over his bulge and he took her hips again, pressing her down to increase the friction.

"Y-y-yeah.” He let out a long breath, ending in a moan. “Fuck yeah. Don’t fucking stop…”

“It’s not going away. It’s getting bigger.”

“Don’t give up…it’s almost gone. Promise…” He panted, his eyebrows flinching. “C'mon baby…uh… keep reading to me. Yeah.”

“ _Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet_ -”

“What the fuck is a tuffet? Is that when a chick’s pubes get so long they stick out in little tufts?”

“Yuck.” She reached back and smacked him again. He didn’t seem to mind. He clutched her hips, grinding his pelvis against her butt hard and fast, and she made a face. His eyes were rolling back, his teeth grit.

“You’re giving me rug burn,” she complained, and slid out of his grip. “And I’m hungry now… thinking about those strawberries and cream.” She headed for the kitchen. “Be right back!”

He let out a long, frustrated moan, his lump twitching in his pants. “Fuck, Nova! You’re giving me Little Boy Blue balls over here!”


	12. Take Me to Chuch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...just more of this pointless shit story.

Sherry clawed her way out of the dream world. The swank luxuriousness of Negan’s bedroom was disorientating after the slick, spraying wetness of blood. The gore, the body parts and the stench…

She coughed the last of the dream-smell out of her throat.

“What the fuck are you kicking me for?” Negan’s cranky voice chased away the fear in her veins. She rolled over to face him. He blinked at her, then rubbed one hand over his eyes.

“I didn’t want you sleeping all day. You lazy bastard.”

“I was already awake, you lazy bitch.”

“Really? Then why the hell aren’t you standing there, handing me my breakfast in bed like a good husband should do?”

“Like I’d want a slob like you eating in my bed.”

“I think you’re mistaking me for Nova.” She snorted and rolled her eyes. The morning light was coming in red through the maroon curtains, and she shuddered. “I had a dream.”

“I had a dream too. A dream where I will no longer have to endure listening to other people’s shitty dreams.”

She ignored him, her eyes glazing over. The visuals flooding back in. “I’ve had it before. I told you about it, I think, though you probably didn’t listen.”

“Just like I ain’t listening now.” Negan’s eyes were half-shut, but at least he was still looking at her.

“I’m in church. Singing in the choir. We’re all singing and dancing… but suddenly there’s walkers everywhere. Filling the church. Tearing everyone apart all around me. And they’re _still_ singing hymns even as their guts spill out. The stained glass windows are turned red. I’m the last one standing in a pile of bodies. And I’m still singing too… but I’m blinded with blood…and I can hear them _eating_ , and I know I’m gonna die, but… I can’t _stop_ …” Her voice choked up. She felt tears stinging her eyes.

“Wow. That’s fucking thrilling.” Negan rolled onto his back, slinging his arm across his face to block out the morning light. “It’s just a fucking dream.”

She cringed inwardly. His invalidation was no surprise, but it stung nonetheless. She blinked, continuing to dwell over the images that were still horrifyingly crisp and bright in her mind. “I wonder what it means…I think it’s like…they all sang for God, we all did, but it wasn’t enough – it wasn’t good enough. And that’s why He sent them – the Walkers. That’s why He let Hell out from underground, or maybe we were always in Hell and didn’t know it. Because we weren’t good enough, and He finally had enough.”

Negan snorted.

She frowned, propping her head onto her elbow. Glaring at him, what she could see, anyway. His lips, his chin.

“Were you even in a choir? Singing for God? Why would some all-powerful fuck need a fucking ego handjob, and from the inferior fucks he created, even?” He lifted his arm, just enough so one eye could look at her. Shadowed, no highlights, just deep chocolate brown. “Do you even believe in that fucking bullshit?”

She tightened her lips. “Why would I tell you? So you can belittle whatever I say…? So you can try to tear another thing away from me and toss it in the trash?”

“What the hell, Sherry?”

“That’s what you do with everything I say… everything I have.”

He took his arm from his face, and rolled on his side to face her. “Why do you think that’s what I’m doing?” His hand moved under the covers, stroking her thigh. “…I don’t do that shit to you.”

A harsh laugh burst from her.

“…Why do you always think the fucking worst of me? I’m not asking you to… belittle you. Maybe I’m just trying to understand you.”

“Understand me, huh. So you can know my weaknesses, so you can manipulate me even more than you already do-”

“Jesus Christ.” His eyes were darkening. “ _You’re_ the one who told me about your stupid fucking dream. I didn’t fucking ask you. I thought you _wanted_ to talk about it. But no, now I’m the bad fucking guy because I do what you want?”

“And I don’t know _why_ I talk to you. You have to be able to feel to understand. And that’s beyond you.”

He took his hand away from her. “You know what? It’s too fucking early for this shit. If that’s what you think about me, then why don’t you leave? I ain’t keeping you here, I ain’t making you _talk_ to me. Why stay with some fucker who isn’t on your superior emotional level, huh?”

It was too early for this crap. She tried to shove down her anger. “You know why.”

He rolled on his back again, covering his eyes. “You say this shit, Sherry, and it pisses me off. I belittle you, I demean you. All I see is you ‘belittling’ yourself. _You_ stay with this ‘unfeeling asshole’, this fucker that doesn’t care about you.” He snorted. “And then you pretend like you have no other options. _‘No one will want me. I’ll be alone. It’s all Negan’s fault. He did this to me_ ‘.”

Words like arrows, no bolts, to the heart. Dwight would never take her back. She _would_ be alone.

_And is it really all Negan’s fault? Or is it mine?_

Maybe the dream was that she was the death of all those around her. She brought the walkers. She was the one still standing. Her choices ripped out their hearts, destroyed their lives.

She was trash, she was truly trash, and living here was prolonging her inevitable journey to the dump, where she would finally decay, wither away into nothing.

She couldn’t help it… the tears slipped down her face. Her lip quivered. His lip was down-turning, and he pressed his arm harder to his face. He hated the sound of tears. He could pick apart feelings, analyze them… it wasn’t the same as experiencing them. “So…you know how I feel, but you _don’t_ know. You forgot the most important thing. How much I… _care_ … for you.”

She wanted to hiss out the ultimate declaration of caring, but it was stupid. Stupid to feel it. She could never expect his reciprocation. She’d known that for a long time.

He still didn’t look at her, but his lips curled sardonically. “Nah, I didn’t forget. I just wouldn’t dare accuse you of that.”

“Negan…” She let out a sigh, and slid off the bed. She felt stupid, suddenly. It was a brand new day, the light was shining bright… it would probably be a great day to lay outside on the roof. She was alive in a world where so many had died. There was the smell of rich coffee drifting from under the door. And here she was, wallowing in misery for _nothing_. Over a dream. Bleeding her veins for no good reason.

She went to the bathroom and scrubbed her face, squinting at her wet green eyes in the mirror. _Stupid, Sherry. This is dumb._

When she came out, she stood watching Negan for a moment. He’d closed his eyes, curled his head up on the pillow. He was doubtlessly feigning sleep, just to avoid further argument with her.

“Ok,” she said. “I’m sorry for being a bitch. You’re right… I was the one talking about the dream…and well…” She returned to the bed, draping her body over his. Her fingers ran over his bicep. “Don’t be sulky, Negan.” She kissed along his upper arm. “I said I was sorry. You _love_ hearing that.”

He didn’t answer her. She rested her lips on his shoulder, sighing. Her mind wandering back to the dream, and past the dream into reality… the days before the apocalypse. “I used to believe in it. God. I had faith, I guess. My family weren’t regular church-goers, and I wasn’t in a choir… but I think we believed because it was the expected thing to do. And when I was older… I went even less. I’d go to Midnight Mass and just be like… ok. This is good enough.”

She slowly drew her mouth up to his neck. His breathing was slow and deep, and he was still quiet. She wondered if he’d fallen asleep on her, which wouldn’t be anything new. But now her words were drifting into the air from the blackness of her memory, and it didn’t even matter if they fell on listening ears or not. As long as they were out of _her_. “…and I read these words that Jesus supposedly said. That you didn’t need the Church to find Him, that He was in the air, under every stone, or something like that. So I’d pray for people and I’d wear my cross… and it was fine.”

He must have fallen asleep.

“…then my brother died…I’ve told you that before. I was… shaken. But everyone kept reassuring me, he was in a better place, and believing that was comforting, and I think that’s the whole point… you’re comforted. But when…”

She squeezed her eyes closed. Pressing her nose into Negan’s soft hair, trying to let his scent comfort her, the masculine leather and sandalwood spice. _Please, please, don’t let me go back, don’t let me see it, don’t let me…_

But under his scent, she could smell it, the explosion of copper, the spray of blood…

She could see Anne, naive and foolish. Always the clumsy child, never swift of thought. She’d had the most broken bones and scars of all the Ramsey children. Silly little Anne, being pulled down by the Walkers. Her throat ripped open, bleeding out, gurgling, eyes wide and terrified of death, before it claimed her seconds later.

She was getting his hair wet as she cried softly into his neck. “…when Anne died…I just… I lost it. I realized it was all fake. Just as fake as when people say 'Everything will be ok.’ It was what we wanted to hear and believe. But it was fucking _stupid_.”

“…so do you feel better off now? Without that shit? Or do you miss it?”

She rolled away from him, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I feel… empty maybe. I can’t explain. Like I was on a tightrope, and I was always on a tightrope, but there used to be a net under me… and now there’s not. But the net… it was never there. It was just an illusion. But having the illusion meant I wasn’t as afraid. And now… I am.”

“You don’t need a fucking net.” He rolled over to face her, and the light was in his eyes, making them such a warm, assuring brown. “You have me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you… or the others. You can believe whatever else you want about me, Sherry, but I want you to know…You can believe in _that_. That I want you to be safe.”

And he could be so disarming, his charm could turn her upside down until she believed lies were truths. But she knew… these words from his mouth, were as honest as any prayer she had given to her former god.

She put her face into the pillow, blinked back tears. And then looked at him again, feeling the newness of the day, the relief of her anger melting away. She smirked. “You’re literally my Savior, huh?”

“You fucking know it.” His eyes traced her features for a few moments. She could tell, just by the darkening of his irises, the increased tempo of his breath… that he was going to try to make a move on her. She was counting down to it. _Three…Two…_

“…so why’d you tell me?” he asked, and his lips curled up sarcastically. “…I mean… I just think everything you say is a fucking joke, right? I’m just gonna use this shit against you in the future.”

“Oh shut up…” She scowled. “…you know, it’s like you deliberately try to piss me off, Negan.”

His hand was moving under the cover. She’d forgotten to count down to _one_ , but the moment was here. She shunted back before he could touch her. “And keep your hands to yourself.”

“C'mon, don’t you want to give your god his ego hand-job?”

“Not after you said you were my god. You asshole.”

“ _You’re_ the one who said I’m your Savior.”

“Not in that way, you jerk.”

His hand was creeping like a spider under those sheets. She moved further away, her ass hanging off the side of the bed.

“But I thought you cared for me…”

God, he was such a fucking dick. She grit her teeth. Maybe her anger wasn’t all gone, after all.

He laughed softly. “All right, I get the fuckin’ message. I’ll keep my hands to myself, I guess. But can I at least cum on your tits when I’m done?”

She dismissed that idea with a disapproving grunt.

He rolled to his back again, letting out a sigh. His hand started to move under the cover. She sat up, watching him as he closed his eyes. “Are you seriously jerking yourself off?”

“Um, _yeah_.”

She shook her head, and watched him. His eyebrows flinching a little, a groan filtering from his mouth. She propped her head on her hand. He didn’t stop, the actions continuing on for several moments as his breathing got more and more erratic, and he let out the most theatrical moans.

“Are you getting turned on?” He asked, cracking an eye open.

“Not particularly.” She smirked, then added, “It’s not like I can see anything.”

“Oh. Well…” He threw the cover off, and she watched his big hand stroke up and down his arousal, the smooth, practiced motions of the frequent self-lover. Her stomach tightened. Well, shit. She was getting turned on.

“Mmm…” he breathed, his eyes flitting to hers. “You know, I think my hand feels better than yours. Covers a bit more fuckin’ ground, you know?”

“Good to know.” She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his motions, the slippery head peeking up through his closed fist, then sliding down out of sight, and then peek-a-boo, there it was again. She shifted her hips. Yeah. This shit was making her wet. “Seems like you’re better off just doing it yourself from now on.”

“Kind of defeats the purpose of being a god and all. I mean, having to do everything _myself_? Fuck that.”

“Oh, shut up with the god crap.” She moved close to him, her voice lowering into a husky growl. “All right, _Lord_ , tell me… can your humble subject assist you in any way?”

“Wait, am I supposed to shut up or…?”

“Just answer me, Negan!”

“What kind of fuckin’ assistance you offering?”

“What kind do you want?”

“You can give my hand a break and replace it with some wet fucking pussy. That would be fantastic.”

“Gee… I don’t know if there’s any wet pussy around here…” She said, and then moaned as he slid his free hand up her thigh, his thick fingers brushing against the slick heat of her entrance.

“Found some!”

“Of course you did, you all-knowing motherfucker.” She smirked, and slid on top of him. “Well, in that case, may I offer this wet pussy as a gift to my Savior?”

“Fuck yeah, you can. Come confess your fuckin’ sins to me.”

“That’s gonna take a while…” She shook her head, staring at her number one offense in the sin department. He grinned wide as she sank down slow. She moaned softly… oh, but sinning felt so damn good.

“Mmmm yes…” She said, such a blasphemer. “Baptize me, _Lord_.”

He gripped her hips harder, and she leaned down to rasp into his ear. Her breasts brushing the roughness of his chest, her lips whispering a variety of sins into his ear. Each sin granting her rougher and rougher thrusts, until she was no longer speaking, but crying his name, until she felt the dousing of holy water.

She closed her eyes as she regained her senses. She sighed, curling up against him. He’d never be able to reciprocate her feelings…and maybe she should just be ok with that. He was safe, he was secure, and constant. That had to be enough. _Keep singing. Don’t look around._ And the horrors would finally fall quiet, and disappear.

“Wanna get up now?” He asked, sounding just on the verge of sleep.

“Yeah…” She mumbled, but neither of them were moving.

“So, uh… Sherry… did you mean that one? That sin about you wanting to get tied up and punished…?”

She punched his shoulder. “I never said that.”

“Oh, so you’re lying now? You know that’s a sin-”

She smirked and sat up, stretching lazily. “Guess you’ll have to punish me then… huh?”

“I’m a god. Punishing people is what I do best.”

She laughed as she walked away from the bed, aware of his eyes on every sway of her naked hips. “Ain’t that the fucking truth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had Sherry’s sister Anne die in the same way to TV-Sherry’s sister Tina. However, other than getting killed by walkers, there is no similarities between the two. In my fic, it happened long before Sherry even met Negan. Sherry’s brother died in a car accident pre-ZA.


	13. Ride, Cowgirl, Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More smutty shenanigans! (and for once, Amber is (sort of) enjoying herself!)

Sunlight tiptoed over her face. Poke, poked at one eyelid, then the other. _‘Wake up,’_ it said. Amber wrinkled her nose, not wanting to lift the shades of her eyes. She’d be blinded. Sweat was on her upper lip. And she was all weak-muscled and deliciously lazy. _'Screw you, sun. I ain’t moving.’_

She didn’t hear snoring beside her, but she heard breathing, she could feel his presence. He took up so much space, threw off heat, like the friction from that big body was charging the air around it. She thought she heard the door creak, then footsteps. So quiet. Maybe someone was sneaking in to use the shower.

Then she felt the bed indent, someone crawling in with a hushed giggle.

“Mmm…” Negan said, voice just above a whisper. “Mornin’, beautiful.”

“Mornin’, handsome…” The female, whispering too. “…is she asleep?”

“Fucked if I know.”

The female gasped, then giggled. “Ooh. You’re bad…”

“Mmm? Sorry. My hand slipped.”

“Heh. Right.” Another giggle. “And I bet that’s Lucille under the covers, and not your massive boner, huh?”

Nova. That was definitely Nova. Amber wasn’t sure what to do, but she was still so limp and warm, and she _really_ didn’t want to move.

“Massive boner? I like the sound of that.” His breath hitched a little. “Oh shit… heh. You want me to kick her out…?”

“I don’t care.” The bed creaked and bounced. “…I just want you to…” Nova’s voice lowered to a whisper Amber couldn’t make out. She heard him moan softly, and felt his arm brush her against her as he moved it.

“…Fuck.” His words were getting more labored, coming out on puffs of air. He must’ve thrown back his side of the covers. She felt the additional weight of the blanket settle upon her. More sweat popped on her lip, and she felt it rising on other parts of her body too, her armpits, the valley of her breasts. Her cheeks were starting to redden, both from the heat and from the sounds -

Nova: a whimper breaking from her, a long breathy moan.

The bed: springs squeaking, up, down.

Negan: “Fuck…”

Nova: “Ohhh…oh God…that feels so…fucking…good…”

Squeak, squeak, profanity, groan, Amber’s ears filled with the sounds of lust, the sweat dripping from her now, and between her legs she could feel the core of her volcano warming, the very earth throbbing. Her cheeks burned. She slipped a hand between her curled knees -

“…Oh shit…unnnnhh…”

“…Wow, you’re really fuckin’ riled up…” He chuckled.

“…Yeah…” Nova rasped, her whisper not low enough this time, and Amber’s hand paused, two fingers pressed onto such a pulsing, sensitive area. “…I was thinking about you…” Nova giggled. “…and then my fingers just weren’t enough…I needed the real thing…”

“Oh dear,” he said. “That’s terribly fucking naughty, Nova. You know that shit can blind you, right?”

“Ohhh…” Squeak and creak. “…well, you’re still seeing perfectly fine…”

“Touche’,” he rasped. “Well, you got me there.”

“Mmm…I got you _here_ too…” The girl’s breath hitched, and a moan was muffled, like she’d thrown a hand over her mouth. “Mmmmphh…”

“You like that…?” he whispered. The bed bounced a bit more violently and Nova cried out from behind whatever was muffling her mouth.

“Oh God yes…” Another cry. “Like it?…fuck! I love it!”

Amber wondered what she was doing, with her hand between her legs, pleasuring herself while listening to the two of them so rudely going at it right beside her. She felt infected with their depravity. She put her face into the pillow, overheated and flush. Sweating, latching her teeth into the cotton as she rubbed her fingers harder and faster.

The springs were squeaking hardcore now, and the two partners weren’t making any attempts to be quiet. “Fuck…fuck yes…” Nova cried.

“Hey, Amber? You wanna join in? There’s no fuck…” Negan was breathless. “-fucking way you’re still asleep.”

The covers were suddenly thrown off her, and Amber withdrew her hand, blinking innocently at the entwined pair. “I was…trying to give you some privacy,” she said, through her own hard breaths.

Nova, straddling his hips, smiled deviously. “Sure you were. I think you were getting off on listening to us.” She reached out, her hand sliding up Amber’s ribs to cup her breast. The blond froze, staring down at the groping hand.

“Mooo…” Nova smirked, and then let go, only to smack both her hands down on Negan’s chest. “She’s a bad girl, Neegs, she was listening to us. I think you should get her!” She smacked him again. “Yeah! Give it to her!”

He sneered over at Amber, and the next thing she knew there was a flurry of motion; Nova sliding off him, and he was on top of Amber, roughly snuffling into her neck. She gasped and pushed her hands into his chest.

“Ugh, Negan, get off me!” she moaned. “I don’t wanna!”

“Give it to her!” Nova was chanting, through evil laughter, and Negan’s hand crept teasingly up Amber’s thigh.

“You want it, baby? I can tell you’re wantin’ it. Look how fucking hard you’re breathing.”

“I’m breathing hard because your big ass is crushing me,” Amber whined, hoping he wouldn’t stray his hand too far up and feel just how wet she was.

“I’m not even laying on you.” He raised an eyebrow. “She’s not interested, Nova, come on, let’s get back to it.”

“Ok…” Nova flopped down on her back, spreading her arms wide. “Come on, fuck me good…”

He laughed and clambered off Amber. She kept her eyes on the ceiling but couldn’t block out Nova’s over-exaggerated groan of rapture, or the bouncing of the bed. She finally looked over, watching him plow her into the mattress, Nova’s hands clawing at his back. They were definitely playing it up for their audience.

“You sure you don’t want some of this?” He grinned. “There’s plenty to go around. Hell, Nova would probably eat your pussy if you asked her to.”

“Mmmm…” The younger wife licked her lips and patted the mattress. “Yeah. Get over here, Amber.”

“No thanks…” Amber put her red face into the pillow and pushed both ends of it over her ears. The bed bounced enthusiastically under her, and for some reason, it jostled giggles from her. She laughed into the pillow, rolling her face out to gasp for air.

“Oooh oh!” Nova was saying, and Negan grinned as she writhed under him, her voice dissolving into a whimper.

“What number is that? One or two?”

“O-o-one…” gasped the young wife, clutching him in a deathgrip. “But…but…it’s real good _one_.”

“Of course,” he sniffed smugly. “I deliver nothing but the fucking best.” He winked at Amber. “I think she needs a break… you sure you don’t wanna jump in?”

Nova smiled with her eyes closed. Amber felt the ache between her legs, the _need_ to be touched.

_Infected_ , she thought. And then, _But I’m sick already, I’m already diseased. So… what the hell._

“Ok,” she said. Then stronger, more sassy. “Yeah. Come here.”

Negan’s eyes widened, and he didn’t move; he didn’t believe her. She licked her lips, and hooded her eyes, caressing one hand over her breast, so scantily contained within a thin camisole.

That was enough incentive for him, and he was quickly back on top of her, hands parting her thighs, sliding his fingers over her slick entrance. “Ooh. You really did get turned on listening to us.”

“Maybe a little…” she admitted, and despite her attempts to be bold, her damnable cheeks still flamed. She averted her gaze from his and he laughed.

“You’re learning,” he said. “One of these days, you won’t be so fuckin’ bashful, for no damn reason at all. Nothin’ wrong with enjoying life once in a while.”

“Mmmmhmmm…” agreed Nova lazily.

He pulled Amber’s legs up around his waist, and she gasped a little when he pushed inside her. Nova shifted a little closer, so she could caress Amber’s boobs, gently kissing along her neck.

“Mmmm… yeah. Suck on her tits,” Negan said, and he moaned as Nova did so. “Fuck yeah… fuck! That’s so hot. Christ.”

Amber squirmed and her hand fluttered in the air, caught between enjoying the sensations of Nova’s mouth… or wanting to push her away? It seemed wrong to be enjoying this, her eyes flitting up to Negan’s grin, his hands clutched onto her thighs.

He leaned over, letting out a puppy sound, begging Nova, “Come here, babe, I want a taste now.”

Nova grinned, leaning towards him so he could take her tit in his mouth, his tongue swiping all over her hardened nipple. He leaned back again so he could thrust more vigorously into Amber, his eyes dreamy. “Shit… sometimes I wish I had two fucking dicks.”

Nova went back to toying with Amber’s nipples, her fingers teasing. “You should fuck her ass so I can eat her pussy at the same time. That’d be super hot.”

Amber let out a whimper, both to a sudden shiver of pleasure, and protesting that idea.

“I wish,” he said. “Last time I asked if I could fuck her ass, she punched me in the face.”

“That wasn’t nice,” Nova smirked. “You should let him, Amber…you might really like it.”

“No way…” Amber shook her head. “I’m not into that!”

“You’ve never tried it,” he said. “How do you know?”

“How do you know you aren’t?” Amber shot back.

“For the record…I fucking launch like a goddamn rocket when one of the girls puts her fingers up there.” His cheeks went a little red as he admitted this, and Nova laughed.

“That’s the truth! He’s such a little fag.”

Negan made a face to that, and grunted. “Right. I’m so wishing you two were men right now.”

“You probably are.” Nova teased him, and then moved her hand down Amber’s belly. The blond felt her insides flinch away and she squirmed. The younger girl pressed two fingers on the hood of her clit and began to rub.

“Ohhh!” Amber whimpered. She grimaced and tossed her head. The fingers rubbed harder. A louder cry broke from her. “OH!”

Nova laughed. She laid down on her belly, her face close enough to get a highly detailed view of Negan’s dick thrusting into her. Amber bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling, unable to bear the close scrutiny.

“Isn’t that hottest damn view ever?” He asked.

“Mmmm…it’s so hot,” Nova purred. “That big dick of yours…”

Negan grinned, and Amber tightened her lips to trap in her laughter.

“I just wanna wrap my lips around it…I wanna drink all your cum.”

Amber was already flushed as red as she could, and all she could do was squirm uncomfortably. She couldn’t imagine saying things like that!

“Shit…” he breathed. “…fuck!” He gripped Amber’s hips, digging his fingers in. His thrusts were getting rougher, and her breasts swayed back and forth with his movements.

“Mmmm…” Nova dragged her tongue up his belly. “Let me taste your cock, baby.”

“Yeah…” he grunted, and withdrew from Amber, watching Nova as she greedily took him in her mouth. She cast Amber a devious look, one hand clasping his balls and squeezing. He grunted again. “Easy, Nova…”

She purred around his length, bobbing her head. Deeper, deeper. She gagged slightly, then came back up, trailing spit. Grabbing the slick length and jerking it, her tongue dancing over the head. He groaned, tangling his hand into her long waves.

“Um…ok. I’ll uh…I’ll leave you two alone.” Amber was disappointed from the loss of him. She was still aching, but she began to squirm away so she could leave.

“Fuck that!” Negan grabbed her hip. “Don’t go.” He smiled nastily. “How about you finger yourself while you’re waiting? Hmmm? I’ve never seen you do that…I’ve sure fuckin’ imagined it though.”

She tried to wiggle out of his grip. “No…no way. I…I don’t do that.”

“What a fuckin’ liar.” Nova rolled her eyes. “Oh, Miss Moo Cow is such a good girl, she never plays with herself!”

Amber kept wiggling. “Let me go. I’m not doing that…”

“Ok, ok!” He released her. “You don’t have to! Fuck, don’t get all uptight on me! You wanna fuck again?”

She was throbbing, but she was also annoyed. This was already beyond her comfort zone… but they didn’t care. They took every opportunity to call her out as a 'prude.’ _Screw that. Just because I’m not depraved like they are…?_

“Calm down,” he said, putting a little whine into his voice, his eyebrows tilting up. “C'mon Amber, don’t get mad!” He pushed Nova away from him, and clambered on top of Amber. He kissed her neck. “You want to finish in private?”

“Hey!” Nova protested. “I was here first!”

Amber sighed. His heat was making her ache, and she felt the slick wetness of his erection pressing onto her leg. “No. It’s ok. Um.” She slid her hands down his back, gripping onto his butt. “We can…um… do it.”

Nova giggled. “Yeah…do it, Neegs. Put your _thingie_ in her _no-no_ place.”

Amber scowled and started to push at him. Negan bit back a clear laugh, his eyes sparkling. “Stop it, Nova,” he chastised, his voice severe despite his amused expression. “Let up on her a bit.” He brushed Amber’s sweaty bangs from her forehead, and kissed it.

Nova flopped onto her side and watched the two of them. She was childishly pouting, but Negan ignored her, and Amber tried to. He kissed down to her collarbones, and ran his tongue along the slope of her breast. Nipping at one nipple, tugging it between his teeth. She squeaked.

His big hands slid onto her back and he fell back into a sitting position, pulling her with him. She was now in his lap, her legs straddled around him, and she gasped as he pulled her upwards to position himself at her entrance. He let her slip back down, and she moaned as his thick shaft sunk into her. He bounced her on his lap a few times, before flopping onto his back.

“It’s all yours, babe,” he said, putting his hands on her hips. Amber sighed and hung her head. She didn’t want to be on top. It put too much control in her hands, and Nova was still watching. He smacked one of her ass cheeks. “As good as you fuckin’ feel, it’ll feel way fucking better if you actually move.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Well, she was already here, and if they didn’t care… and they didn’t find this shameful…then why should she? She curled her hands onto his chest and began to rock her hips on him. She let her eyes wander him, his strong neck, collarbones, the starkly defined muscle in his shoulders and arms. He was such a goddamn _jerk_ , but he was attractive as hell. She shifted her stance slightly, oh yeah… now _that_ was good.

“Fuck yeah…” His eyes were fixated on her swaying breasts. “You know, I’d believe I’d died and gone to motherfuckin’ Heaven, but I don’t think they’d let me in.”

“That’s for sure.”

“Who wants to go to Heaven anyway?” Nova scoffed. “Sounds boring there. No sex, no rock music, no drugs? Wait…are we talking about _Heaven_ again?”

“I thought you wanted the seventy-two virgins,” Amber sneered. “Remember that?”

Negan frowned as he thought. “Maybe. Something about virgins being fucking overrated. Fuckin’ seventy-two of them is more of a damn chore than a pleasure.”

“Yeah, they’d all give you shitty head just like Amber does.” Nova smirked. “Or did Moo Cow finally learn how to suck?”

“I can suck just fine-” Amber started, and that sounded so dumb that she trailed off, and Nova started to snort laughter, and Negan grinned like an idiot. He cleared his throat and patted Amber’s butt.

“Now, now, girls, let’s play nice. You all get me off just fuckin’ fine.”

_Oh, what a compliment!_ Amber rolled her eyes.

“And what’s really gonna get me off…” He thrust hard up into Amber, and she moaned. “Is you riding my fuckin’ ass into the sunset.”

Amber increased her pace, squinting over at the window and the morning sunlight streaming in. “That’d be a long ride,” she muttered.

Nova suddenly slapped her ass hard. _“YEEEHAWW!_ Ride him, cow-girl!” She smacked Amber again, cackling. “Ha ha! Get it? _COW_ -girl?”

Amber disengaged one of her hands from Negan’s chest and tried to protect her butt from further assault.

Negan shook his head at Nova’s juvenile comments, reaching a hand up to fondle Amber’s 'udders’. His fingers, roughly teasing at her nipple, made a sharp thrill shoot down her spine. She trapped a moan between her bitten lips. Tilting her head back, panting as she increased the pace. The swollen tip of him was thrusting in just the right spot… oh fuck… if this kept up… she couldn’t trap her next cry.

“Yeah…” he rasped. “Fuckin’ scream for me.” His hands pushed and pulled her up and down his length, his hips bucked up against her.

She wasn’t about to scream, but the insistent nudging against her sensitive spots was making her whimper, and she pushed back against his thrusts. Her breath was coming in gasps. The sensations were coming on strong, and fast. She wouldn’t last much longer. So much for a sunset ride.

Nova flopped down next to Negan on the bed, looking up at Amber as she looked down at him. She tilted her head onto Negan’s shoulder. “Oooh, what a view, I bet this is really getting you off, Neegs.”

“Ummmhmmm…” He grunted. His fingers were digging in harder, his teeth grit.

_Don’t finish before I do!_ Amber thought. She was getting so close, but so was he.

“What does that feel like on your dick?”

“Good.”

“That’s not very descriptive.”

“Fucking good.”

Amber shuddered, fingernails indenting half-moons into his chest. “Right there…” She breathed. “Please.”

He pounded up into her harder… she ground against him, the pressure building up into some tormented, delicious _need_ inside her.

“Who’s pussy do you like better?” Nova’s eyes narrowed up at her, then glanced over to Negan. He wasn’t paying much attention to either of them, just tilting his head back, grunting and groaning through his teeth.

“Huh?” Nova nudged his shoulder.

“W-w-whatever one my dick is in at the moment…” He managed. “Now sssh!”

Amber tried to contain her cries, but they were coming out on every exhale. Every hard thrust ripping them from her. His fingers tightened, slipping sweaty on her skin. He was groaning with each breath and she felt him tensing-

_No… wait, wait, don’t yet!_

Nova nibbled on his shoulder, her smile evil. “Oooh, you gonna cum, Neegs? C'mon… cum all inside that tight little pussy…”

“Fuck…” He moaned, and Amber could feel his muscles all tightening… his length twitching inside her…

_No… wait!_

“Ooh yeah,” Nova encouraged, her eyes glinting up at Amber. They were a blur of cornflower blue as Amber rocked on him harder, her eyes wet with desperation, her body right on the edge. Her thighs were burning from the exertion, but she couldn’t stop. “Oh, your dick’s about to blow, isn’t it? Huh? Give that little slut what she wants…”

“Sssshup…” He hissed under his breath. His hips pounded her, the thrusts getting ragged and falling out harmony with her. But he was hitting her so fucking good inside… right where she needed.

“Shit!” He cried, and flung his head back. The veins in his neck pressed to the skin. Sweat glittering on his chest.

Amber’s modesty was gone, crawling under a rock. She didn’t care. Giving them what they wanted before – reaching her hand down to touch herself, fingers rubbing firm and wild on her clit. Bucking against his hard length, letting the cries explode out through her lips. “Oh! Y-y-yes!” She could do audio for a porn movie. Her exuberant scream – that was it, she was done. Head flung back, the ceiling a blur. Walls clenching hard around him, wave after wave.

The curses poured from him, just as the warmth flooded from her. “Fuck, fuck…F-F-FUCK!” He pulled her down violently upon him. His cock pulsing inside her. The flood was a tidal wave. She felt drowned from the amount of fluid oozing out of her now, but it was fucking fantastic. Her quivering body flattened down against his chest.

“Holy crap… that was awesome,” Nova giggled. “You guys came at the same time, didn’t you?”

_Just about_ , thought Amber, but she wasn’t sure why it mattered. She had been in another world at that point – the ceiling could’ve fallen down and she probably wouldn’t have noticed. Her pulse was still wild, beating in her throat and wrists. She closed her eyes, regaining her breath. Their skin was sweaty and overly hot from where they touched, but she was too spent to do anything but lay still for a moment.

“Your dick is so fucking good,” Nova cooed into Negan’s ear, pressing up against him. “Look at you, making all your girls cum sooo hard.”

“What the fuck are you buttering me up for? Are you plotting something?” His low rumble of a laugh vibrated through Amber’s body. He sat up, sliding her off him, and shifting away from Nova. The younger girl pouted, trying to move closer to him.

“Don’t. I’m fuckin’ sweating like a pig. I need to cool off a minute.”

Amber was in agreement, laying still on her back. A droplet of sweat rolled down her temple, the air kissing the wet path it left. She closed her eyes, just feeling the strumming life of her body. It was pretty damn amazing, in moments like this, that she was glad to be alive, that she couldn’t imagine wanting to lose this. When she looked over at him, and thought, _Maybe, just maybe, I made the right choice in being here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The rest of the scene isn't written yet - but it's some boring convo between the three. XD I really need to get my ass in gear and finish this damn fic... *head desk*   
> -Another thing that is touched on in 'unpublished' scenes is that Amber has some voyeuristic tendencies. XD That sexual deviant! LOL   
> -Thanks for reading <3


	14. Biting the Hand that Feeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will probably bore most. It's pretty long and doesn't advance the plot. (Not that the smut chapters do either LOL) I wanted to write on my wife, Jasmine (Jazzi), who is a bit of an odd duck. Some notes about her: She takes stuff literally most of the time, and talks in a monotone way (hence the lack of question marks in her dialogue XD It's on purpose.) She doesn't like her arms touched or restrained (backstory reasons XD). She's also intrigued with the Walkers.
> 
> But...she lets Negan do anal...so that's why he puts up with her... LMAOOOOO  
> Anyway, I know this one's not the best chap, so feel free to skip if you like! :)

The air inside the Penthouse was warm. Jasmine stood before the bookcase in the sitting room, perusing the titles she'd already read. There were several she hadn't touched, simply because they sounded boring and outdated: ' _How to invest like a Pro'. 'Pinching Pennies for a Richer Life'._

One day, she'd throw them out the bathroom window, but for now she picked a worn copy of _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_. From behind Negan's bedroom door, she heard him loudly proclaim that ' _Sherry's pussy felt so fucking good'._

Well. It was too noisy, and too stifling to stay up here. She didn't mind Negan's grunts when he was having sex with her, but outside that context they were annoying – and she preferred the grunts and moans of a different _sort_ of men.

–

Five minutes later, she was outside, strolling along the perimeter fence with her book and a blanket tucked under her arm. The Walkers groaned when they saw her. She had delicious flesh exposed in her thin sleeveless blouse and tight jean shorts. She knew they could smell it.

Her perfect reading perch was atop the roof of a rusted-out car. A walker was tied to the rear bumper and it growled as she climbed onto the hood and laid her blanket out. The dead man – _Ted_ , she called him - had his legs chopped off at the knee, so he was too short to grab her.

She smiled down at Ted, sat on her blanket, and cracked the book open. Her head bowed over it, the long blonde curls parting on either side of her slender neck. She read passages she'd read thousands of times before, the sun older than all this and millions of miles away scorching her skin red. Ted moaned his frustration at seeing her but being unable to taste.

She wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans, and then noticed a Savior male approaching in her peripherals. He didn't know she'd seen him and he was rolling the sleeves up on his T-shirt to better show off his biceps.

"Hi, Jasmine," he called, stopping near the car. His eyes shifted to Ted, ensuring the walker was secure before smiling at her.

She set her book in her lap. "Hello, Louis."

"Louie," he said, like he always did, and then, like he always did: "Does Negan know you're out here?"

"No. He was doing bedroom things."

She never asked his permission anyway.

"Oh. Uh...Well, umm... Be careful, ok?"

"Yes."

"You want me to kill him?" Louis was good at killing Walkers. He worked on the Fencing Crew. They were responsible for all things related to the Walker sentinels that scattered Sanctuary's perimeter.

"Ted can't get me."

"Oh." Louis didn't leave, even as Jasmine picked up her book. He shifted his weight nervously, before blurting out, "You want to watch us work?" He flushed pink. Jasmine thought he might like her, or at least just wanted to have sex with her.

"We got a fresh batch. Real lively ones."

She liked lively ones. He held out a hand as she slid onto the hood, but she ignored it and jumped to the ground.

"This way." He attempted to take her hand, and she quickly swung it away. His cheeks went pinker.

"I know the way. I used to work in Fencing."

"Really?"

"Yes. Before I got my job with Negan."

Louis now resembled a ripe tomato. She didn't know why. There was nothing to blush about.

"Oh. Uh... well, I guess you're better off now. Fencing sucks... even if the points are real good."

"I didn't mind it. But the Foreman..." She frowned. "He was very unpleasant. He didn't like me."

As they walked, she thought back to her days on the Fencing Crew.

-

_Her senses had been overwhelmed as the Fencing Foreman, a big bald man, introduced himself loudly as a former Sergeant of Drills. She didn't know what that was, but she'd wondered why he wasn't on the construction crew instead._

_As the days progressed, he scared her more than any Walker. She liked them. She did not like the Foreman. He never addressed her in less than a scream, and his face was always red with anger._

" _Coster! Are you a fucking idiot?" He'd screamed one day. She had nearly been bitten. "You can't daydream around these things! You'll get yourself and others killed, and right now, I don't care one shit if you get your scrawny ass eaten!"_

" _Yes, Sir." She always called him Sir, and he always called her Coster, when he wasn't calling her more offensive terms than her surname. "I will be more careful."_

_One day, she'd lost control of a roped Walker. It lurched towards another Fencer, and she had to put it down. The Foreman was furious! His face red as an apple. He had high blood pressure. She'd hoped his skull would simply pop off. He'd jutted his face into hers, his spit flying as he screamed. "What is your problem, Coster!? Do you have brain damage, girl!?"_

" _Y-y-yes..." She hated how loud he was. "That is what the doctor told Grandmother when I was born."_

_A vein pulsed in his temple like a fat snake. "Shut your face, Coster! You are the best argument for abortion I've ever seen! Screw up again and you're gone!"_

_One more screw-up came. This time, he grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the double-doors of Sanctuary. Nobody could say who's screams were louder._

" _Let go, LET GO! Let go of my arm!"_

_He had not listened. She turned her head and sank her teeth deep into his hairy, burly arm._

_His screams were louder, definitely. He'd thrown her onto Sanctuary's stoop, and that was it. She was officially banned from ever Fencing again. In his lifetime, anyway._

_-_

"What's wrong?" Louis's voice drew her out of the memory.

"I was thinking about the Foreman. He was mean to me."

She had pondered which job to apply for next. The kitchen rebuffed her and when she asked to join a scavenge crew, they laughed. It was good timing that Negan decided he wanted to live the polyamorous lifestyle.

"Velding?" Louis said. "I heard stories about him. He was a tool."

She nodded. "A tool, yes. Sergeant of Drills."

"...What? Oh, right. A drill sergeant! Yeah, that explains him being an asshole."

They were getting close to the work site. She could see the cages of captive walkers. The breeze blew a strong stench of death their direction, but Louis didn't seem to notice.

"He got eaten, didn't he?"

"Yes."

Negan had been disgruntled when he'd heard. Jazzi had smiled.

"Serves him right, for being mean to you."

"Ooh." Jasmine pointed towards a small airplane that lay crippled inside the scrapyard. "There's one of my favorite Walkers." In the cockpit, someone had placed a walker, fully garbed in aviator goggles and a red scarf. Her head swiveled left and right, surveying the imaginary skies. "Her name is Amelia." The pilot Walker bared her teeth as they walked by.

Louis let out a short laugh. "Nice name. It fits her."

"My favorite is Jehovah." Everyone knew Jehovah, the torso who resided by Sanctuary's main entrance. Strung up by the arms, he jerked back and forth endlessly. She always stopped to watch. Maybe this would be the moment his arms sockets gave. It never was.

"Jehovah?" Louis scratched his head. "Er...you have names for them?"

"Of course. He's the torso."

"Oh, the one by the front gate. Gotcha." He was starting to look uncomfortable, though she hardly knew why. He spent all day with the dead ones. He was the weird one for _not_ naming them.

"I guess posing them is the funnest part," Louis said.

_Someone_ had fun, anyway. There was one Walker who had an additional head tied next to his, so he looked like a Siamese twin. Many Walkers had been bound in sexual provocative poses... like Woody, who was forever left holding his dick with his pants down.

"I suppose it will rot off eventually."

Louis turned from red to green.

A male and female Walker, chained together. "A never-ending fellatio."

He went from green back to red.

Her third favorite undead was right on the outskirts of Fencing territory – an area Negan forbade her to go... but if Louis was with her, it was surely permissible, right?

This was an unhappy walker. He'd been decapitated and tied so he stood upon his own head. His eyes rolled upwards at them, and he growled.

"What'd you name him? Foot-sniffer?"

"Wallace."

Louis nodded. She didn't think he appreciated her names. Nobody did. All the girls scoffed at her invitations for a tour of the scrapyard and its sentinels, and Sherry got angry whenever she knew Jasmine had been down here. Negan had no interest at all. She sighed.

"They tried to stick a Walker's head up its ass one time," Louis said. "Like, they had the spine part bare, and tried to wedge it up into the thing's rectum...but it just kept falling out." He blushed. "I'm sorry, Jasmine. I shouldn't talk about gross things like that in front of you."

"I live with Negan," she said. That was explanation enough.

"Well, here we are. Keep away from the cages," Louis said.

"Yes," she said, but she intended to 'keep away' only as far as the Walkers could reach. She stared down at the row of cages that contained noisy undead. In her Fencing days, the Drill Foreman didn't like the cages packed. It was dangerous. His concerns seemed to have died with him. The cages were jammed with the dead. The dismantlement tables were just as she recalled; big wooden monstrosities with leather straps. They held down the undead while they were shaped to the Fencer's whims.

Right now, two Fencers were strapping down a female undead. She had to look away, suppressing a shudder as the bonds were tightened around the dead woman's arms. She swallowed hard, looking back to see the woman thrash and moan as the Fencers raised their machetes to her legs.

"You ok?" Louis touched her arm, and she jolted away. "It's kind of gross, maybe-"

She didn't find it gross. The black blood that poured, the white bone exposed from the amputation. She shook her head. "I don't mind the gore. I just don't like the straps."

"All done, you ugly bitch," one of the Fencers said, and they used a snare pole to drag the legless woman to a cattle trailer, where they threw her in.

She didn't like that either – how rude the other Fencers were to the Walkers. "There's no need to call her ugly."

That made Louis laugh, and she frowned.

She turned, observing the cages of Walkers waiting to be processed. She could hear the Drill Foreman now. _'These cages are overcrowded, you stupid shits-for-brains!'_

"These cages are too full."

Louis shrugged. "Yeah...but it's ok. We're experts."

"Your Foreman allows them this full."

"Well..." Louis rubbed the back of his neck. "Not usually, but Nolan has been kind of hung-over the past few days. I guess it was his anniversary a couple of days ago – and his wife died, so he's been depressed thinking about it."

"Why do people think intoxicating with drugs will get rid of their bad memories."

"I guess it does...in the short-term, you know?"

"Hey Louie, quit blabbing and help us." The two Fencers were approaching one of the cages. Louis sighed and went to assist.

Something touched her arm, and she quickly turned. A male Fencer stood extremely close, and he leaned even closer. "How'd you get out here, beautiful? Are you lost?"

"No. I came out to watch."

"Most people are scared of these things." He held a piece of rebar, and hit one of the nearby cages. Banging on the bars, poking the rusted end into one of the Walker's eyeballs. The undead began to snarl and thrash, their noise making the other cages of dead react. The volume grew beyond Jasmine's liking and she put one hand over her ear.

"See. You look pretty uneasy. How about I walk you back home?"

"No." She turned away from him and his slimey-slug voice, watching as Louis and the two Fencers unlocked a cage. This was a bad idea. The Walkers were too agitated to disturb.

"I really think I should, a pretty girl like you isn't safe out here." The slug voice was in her ear again. He tugged on one of her curls, and she frowned over her shoulder. He smiled, offering useless information: "My name's Bill, by the way. You can call me Bill. I like girls to know my name, for when... well, you know."

She didn't know, and didn't care. He had a condescension she recognized. A knowing kind of smirk around his lips, but what he _thought_ he knew – she had no idea. She smoothed her curls onto her opposite shoulder, away from his touchy hands.

"What's yours, beautiful?"

She pondered several responses, but settled on silence – which was broken when Louis suddenly let out a wail, and the two Fencers cursed. The Walkers inside the cage surged towards the opening door, and the three men struggled against their weight.

" _Shut it, shut it!"_

" _I'm trying!"_

"Heh. Idiots." Bill chuckled. He took hold of her shoulder and steered her towards a nearby shed. "We better get you inside where it's safe."

Other Fencers came running along the dirt-packed ground. Bill nearly pushed her inside the shed door, slamming it behind them.

"Don't wanna be out there," he said. "We'll be putting your pretty body on the fence if them things get ahold of you."

She ignored him. A small dirt-streaked window was set high in the shed. She stood on her tiptoes, peering out as the panicked Fencers ran amok, trying to recapture the results of their carelessness. Several Walkers were put down. The Drill Foreman would have been scarlet with rage!

"You should go help."

"Fuck that. I'm on break." Bill picked up a bottle of beer and drank a large gulp. He stood by a table that held an assortment of fencing tools, all thrown in a pile. The ghost of the Foreman shook his fist at this disorganization; mallets and machetes and knives arranged so uncaringly!

Outside, another Walker was killed.

"Exciting shit, huh. Never a dull moment on the Fencing Crew!" Bill raised his bottle. He put his hand on her back, nudging her away from the window.

"No, I suppose not."

"Not that a girl like you would be interested in a job like this." His hand strayed lower, touching her behind. "It takes a strong stomach."

She stepped away. "I used to work here."

His eyebrows raised. "Really? You get more interesting every second, beautiful." His eyes moved in a funny matter. They would roam her body, then quickly jerk up to her face, and he'd smile. She didn't care if he looked. Men always looked.

"I did."

"What happened, then? You got canned? Or scared off?"

"I was fired. The Foreman didn't like me."

"Really." He drank more beer. She looked out the window again. Most of the Walkers were back in the cage. Louis and another Fencer herded a stray undead with the snare pole, while the third Fencer got ready to open the cage. She imagined they would all simply escape again as soon as the door was opened.

She looked back to Bill. His eyes had a look she recognized. She saw it on Negan's face often. It was usually accompanied by him expressing a desire for sex.

"Bet you're glad to be out of this job. Even if it does pay major points."

"I enjoyed it."

"Yeah?" He drained the rest of the bottle and threw it in the corner of the room. "I don't remember you...and I've been working here since Nolan got made Foreman. We're real good buddies."

She didn't particularly care. Outside, the Fencers decided to put the last few walkers into the cattle trailer. It was almost safe to go back outside.

"What I'm trying to say is... I can get you back on, no problem. So... I'll tell ya what. You do me a solid, and I'll put in the word to Nolan you want on the crew." He wasn't just looking now. His hands slid onto her hips and he pulled her closer.

"I don't want to."

"Hey, now." He frowned. "I'm offerin' a good deal here. You're so skinny – you definitely need more points to buy some quality food." His hands slid up, and he did it in a way that took her shirt with it. He sucked in a breath as her stomach and sides were exposed.

"I don't need to buy quality food." She tried to step back. He threw his weight forward, pressing her to the wall.

"Don't be ungrateful, beautiful..." His breath came in harder. "Take the deal. You'll be happy you did."

"No. Let go of me." She winced as his hand found her bare breast under her shirt, and delivered a hard squeeze. His other hand fumbled at her jean's button, and now he was panting... he was turning from a man into a beast.

"Stop it." Her weight wasn't enough to dislodge him. But he wasn't holding her arms, and she only felt a languid, detached sort of panic. She was reading a book. She was watching a film. The horror was but paper and celluloid.

He squeezed harder, and she cried out. "Stop. That hurts me!"

"Ssssh, sssh." He turned her around in his arms, keeping one hand over her mouth. He tried to pull her shorts down, but they were tight and it was difficult with only one hand free. She tossed her head, shaking it free from his grip.

"Ow!" He shrieked as her teeth sank deep into his thumb, throwing her to the ground. His fake friendliness went away...his face filled with menace. "Dumb bitch! You're really gonna get it now, and you know what? I ain't telling Nolan shit about you. I'm gonna sneak you 'round back and feed you to the Biters when I'm done."

"Negan won't like that." She needed a weapon, an escape route! Maybe her words would be enough. "Negan will kill you. I'm his wife."

He laughed. "Oh, sure! That's what all the girls say! ' _I'm Negan's wife!_ ' Good one! But if you are...then you're just a whore anyway. You're used to giving it up!"

"I'm not a whore. Whores sleep with multiple partners."

"You're a whore, _whore!_ Cause you're on Negan's dick... and now you're gonna be on mine."

He advanced towards her. She quickly stood, but he was already there, there was no where to go. He took hold of her neck, and it wasn't pleasurable like with Negan. She clawed at his hand, and he tightened his grip.

Outside, the Fencers yelled again, but their voices were charged with something other than panic. They sounded sycophantic and groveling.

" _Hello, Sir!"_ , _"Nice to see you out here, Sir!"_

"Cut the shit." This voice was loud and familiar. Negan! He had come to find her! She jerked towards the door.

"Any of you fucks seen my wife? Sherry saw her from the window. Said she came out this way."

There were a few mutters of ' _no_ ', and ' _haven't seen any babes out here_ ', until Louis spoke, in a whining tone. "Y-y-yes, Sir! I saw her, Sir...she's uh..." He squeaked. "She...she was right here a minute ago...then some Walkers went awry, and-"

"Jesus Fuck, I tell her to stay away from here...and what does she do? She fuckin' wanders around anyway."

"Maybe you should put her on a leash," someone said.

"Who the fuck said that?! You want your goddamn points docked? Then shut the fuck up and look for my goddamn wife!"

"Shit..." Bill's eyes were fearful. "Oh shit...you _are_ his wife?"

She nodded.

"Fuck..." He dragged her away from the wall, heading towards the back door of the shed. They passed the table with the knives and tools. She grabbed blindly, then swung the heft of a mallet at his kneecap. He yelped, his leg buckling. She yanked away.

"Get back here!"

She reached for the doorknob, then squeaked in pain as he caught her hair, yanking her against his chest. His elbow hooked around her neck and squeezed until her vision went spotty and she swayed. He was expecting her to swing the mallet. She used her free hand to reach behind and snatch hold of his testicles, squeezing them with a vicious twist.

"Arrghh!" He let out a choked moan. "Bitch! Fucking bitch!"

She wrenched free, but it was only a seconds reprieve. He dove in a clumsy tackle, his arm around her again, his harsh pants of exertion on the back of her neck.

A blow rang against the side of her head. She kept wiggling. She had to reach the door! Negan was out there.

"Stop it, or I'm gonna blow your brains out." He pounded a fist into her ribs. She reached back, going for his testes again. He snarled and caught her wrist. One wrist, then two, captive in his hands. He twisted and wrenched them upwards behind her back.

Her arms! She whimpered as pain burned hot down her nerves. Her vision fuzzed out to white - a flash of memory.

_White. A man in a white shirt, looking at her with reproach. He had glasses, one lenses smudged with a fingerprint._

_"It doesn't work in this world - your philosophy, Jasmine." He spoke slowly, like he thought her mind too dull to process words shot rapidly. "An eye for an eye?"_

_"An eye for an eye," she repeated back. "A tooth for a tooth."_

_"Doesn't an eye for an eye leave everybody blind?"_

_"No. You still have one eye."_

_Flashes. White. This dullard was another man with the knowing smirk. Thinking he knew things beyond her. The dullard man had the power. He_ thought _he had the power._

She tugged, hard, hard, hard on what restrained her arms! She - the alligator with the taped mouth! Her tremendous jaws held shut! A scream burst from her. "Don't hold my arms! Don't! Let go...LET GO!"

Bill let out a startled gasp. "S-s-shut up!" He hissed and fumbled to cover her mouth. She snapped her teeth at every move he made. _Teeth for teeth!_ She wanted his arms to burn like hers! Twice she caught the flesh of his fingers and drew blood. His hand fluttered like a hummingbird and his voice was panicked. "You dumb bitch!" He kept saying, over and over. He stumbled backwards. If he took her out the back door, he might escape with her and then her life expectancy would be counted in minutes.

And then – light spilled over them as the door swung open.

"Jazzi-baby!" Negan's voice boomed. "There you are!"

She sagged in relief. Negan's shadow fell over them like an eclipse. Lucille on his shoulder, his shining teeth giving off light. Safe. She was safe.

Bill let out an odd hiccuping moan, his grip loosening, but not letting her go. "Oh..." he choked. "H-h-hey, sir!"

"Hey yourself. Might I ask why you've got your arm around my fuckin' girl?"

Bill was deteriorating with fear right behind her; she could feel his body start to tremble, feel his voicebox bob like an apple. "Uh..." She didn't recall his pitch being so high before. "The Walkers, Sir... they got loose...it was dangerous out there. I had to get her inside where it was safe – uh, I was just trying...to keep her safe."

"Well, damn. Thanks, man. Jazzi does have a peculiar attraction to the dead fucks. Don't you, babe?"

"Yes."

Negan was cloaked in a friendly persona. She knew this game of his. It was the foreplay to violence.

"You kept her fuckin' safe... now you can _let her go._ "

"Er...yeah. Sure, sir..." Bill released her, and she quickly crossed over to Negan. His gloved hand caressed her neck, then rested on the small of her back. She enjoyed the warm weight of it, the smell of his leather and cologne. She breathed deep. It pushed back the shaking and panic that wanted to rise through her skin.

"Bad girl. Playin' around with the Walkers. In here with another man. Just what did you talk about...locked up in here alone?"

"He said he could get me a job on the Fencing crew." Her eyes glinted at Bill. She smiled. Maybe she could make her own cologne from the fear stench that came out of his stinking pores.

"I had no idea you were applying for a new job." Negan spoke in a fake sad way. "Are you leaving me?"

"No. I like my job with you."

"I like your job with me, too." Negan waggled his eyebrows. "Well, you heard it here. Jazzi is perfectly satisfied with her employment, so she won't be needing your services."

Bill nodded with his lips drawn in a tight smile. "Yeah. Uh-huh."

Jazzi's mouth quirked at the corner. Negan was a live wire next to her. A hunting dog tense and quivering, just waiting for his command to pounce. It wasn't nice to tease a dog for too long.

"He wanted sex in exchange for the job. I didn't want to. He put his hands on me. He tried to take my clothes off, and he hit me."

"N-no!" Bill sputtered. "That...that ain't true! Look, I grabbed her, Sir, but just to keep her in here, so she wouldn't get hurt, I swear-"

He trailed off as Negan let out a dark chuckle.

"It ain't no lie that Jasmine gets herself into fuckin' trouble. Especially regarding the dead fuckers. It's a fuckin' vice, for sure. But she does have one virtue going for her...and that's pure fuckin' honesty. She says you tried to rape her... then _you tried to fucking rape her_."

The foreplay was over. His fists were hard, the blood hot in every vein. Negan's eyes were golden-glowing, his lip curling up to expose his teeth. There was a rumble deep in his broad chest. She knew it was a prelude to unpleasantly loud yelling. She edged towards the door.

"No! I didn't...I didn't do nothin' like that!" Bill squealed. "I..." His hand went quickly to his side, drawing his pistol.

Negan charged forward in a blur of black. The pistol aimed! Lucille arced around in a hard swing, her wood and barbs hitting the man's wrist. The gun flew, and bone shattered under the impact.

Jasmine cringed, her hands on her ears. The screams were loud and horrible.

"You're pulling a gun on _me_?!" Negan shouted. "You really think pulling a gun on me is going to save you?"

Apparently so. Sprawled on his belly like a worm, Bill reached for the gun.

"Wow, you are some dumb shit, aren't you?" Negan's boot crushed that hand to the floor. The fingers strained in agony as Negan ground his foot like he was putting out a cigarette butt. He yanked Bill upwards by the broken wrist.

More screams. It was too loud. She slipped out the door, with Negan right behind, dragging the noisemaker along with him.

Outside, the other Fencers were gathered around the shed, their faces scared and curious. Louis's mouth dropped, looking from her to Negan.

"What...what's going on?" He sputtered.

Negan threw Bill down by the dismantlement table. " _What's going on?_ You fucking tell me, you useless fucks! You're standing around scratching your balls while this fuck forces himself on my wife?"

Bill shrieked as Negan kicked him hard in the ribs. He lay on his back, moaning in pain with his broken wrist and his crushed hand both lashed across his chest.

Louis gasped. "Is...is she ok...?"

"Yeah, she's ok-" Negan stopped midsentence, glancing over at her. "...you're ok, right?"

She wasn't paying him mind. She was enjoying the sight of Bill in pain. She wondered if he'd touched other girls. She was sure he had. No one was so bold on their first time. "Yes."

"Yes, she's ok, no thanks to you goddamn motherfuckers! Fuck, I can't even tell the difference between your brains and that of these mindless bastards!" He gestured wildly at the overcrowded cages.

The Fencers stayed quiet, exchanging nervous glances.

"And _you?_ You're the stupidest fucking fuck I've laid my eyes on...thinking you can put your grubby fucking hands on my wife? How those hands feeling right about now?"

Bill yelled and flailed when Negan yanked him up by the shirt.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sir!" He wailed. Negan slammed him down again – this time, it was on the dismantlement table.

"You're fucking gonna be, when I take your sorry fucking body apart." A cruel smile curved his lips. "Is that ok with you, Jazzi-baby? You want me to make you your very own custom Walker?"

"No!" Bill thrashed. "No, please!"

It was loud out here too. Negan. Bill. The Walkers, agitated in their cages.

"He upset the Walkers. He riled them up. Reminded them how hungry they are."

Negan and Bill both followed her gaze to the cages. Bill went ghost-white.

Negan's eyes widened. "Well, fucking damn." He canted Lucille her way, indicating she take the bat. She carefully held the barbed Lady against her shoulder. "Look at this. Both my fuckin' girls, so fucking bloodthirsty it chills my fucking bones. And I'm a man bound to the whims of my women, you see. Happy wife, happy life, right?"

"No!" Bill sobbed as Negan yanked him up to his feet by the shirtfront. "No, Sir, please. Please..." Snot and tears ran down over his blubbering lips. Maybe he would urinate on himself too.

Jazzi knew those pleas wouldn't sway her husband. That was what she liked about Negan. He did what he meant. She followed at his heels as he wrested Bill towards the cages.

Bill cowered back against Negan, his entire body bent away from the cage. She remembered giving one of the cats a bath when she was a child. It had formed a hissing, spitting arc with all four legs braced on the tub, before she pushed it in. Bill was even making noises like the cat.

The Fencers stared like it was a trainwreck. Horrified, but drawn. Louis looked at her with round, scared eyes.

"He touched me. Put his dirty hand in, Negan."

"He tried to rape you. Didn't you, you fucking coward?" Negan took hold of Bill's arm. It was as stiff as a body in rigor. She imagined it would snap if Negan forced it out of it's petrified stance.

"No!" The captive man sobbed. Negan was so strong to stand there and restrain him like he was doing. One arm around Bill's collarbones, like a chokehold. His big body forming an unmovable wall, as he ruthlessly pushed Bill's arm forward. She hoped Negan would not get bit. But Negan was smart too, which she also liked.

He got the hand close enough to be grabbed, and then he let the Walkers take over. All those hands and teeth were on Bill's fingers, pulling him towards the hungry dead. Negan merely stood as the barrier preventing escape.

As sobs turned to screams, Jasmine covered her ears, but kept her eyes wide open. Bill thrashed and shrieked, jagged high cries, over and over. The dead latched into the delicious offering of his hand. There wasn't much meat on finger bones. They were bare in moments. Negan clenched his teeth. Maybe he wanted to cover his ears too. He turned his head away, not really looking, keeping himself braced against the struggling man.

When the Walkers got to his wrist, Bill threw himself back with all his strength. His eyes had a strange glassy look. Negan was thrown off balance by the sudden jolt. But he recovered before Bill could flee, casting a single glance to her. What he saw in her eyes must have bade him to continue.

_Flesh for flesh._ Her payment was not met. Not yet. The heavy weight of Bill's hands encircled her forearms, just as tangible as iron shackles. The moist shock of his sweat, like a ring of cold mold blooming on her skin.

She stepped close. The Walkers greedily feasted on their offering. Their gnashing maws, finally wet and replenished. It must be awful to exist with a mouth dried of saliva, and a constant hunger in the gut. They ripped into Bill's forearm.

His screams turned into pathetic whimpering things. His eyes rolled to see her, just as mindless as the beasts who supped on him. A cold voice spoke through her. "Confess." He was a wicked boy. "Tell what you did to me."

Negan's brown eyes peered at her from behind Bill's wiggling shoulder. He looked a little perturbed, as he sometimes did when this voice from the past surfaced.

"Tell what you did."

Bill could barely speak, but she had to give him credit for his efforts. Words came out in between sobs and shrieks. "...wasgonna..."

"Tell what you did!" Her voice rose, and even Negan looked surprised. Bill gagged out his confession.

"...iwasgonnar-r-rape..you...!"

The teeth had reached his elbow, and she felt smug satisfaction, and nothing more or less. To continue on would be excessive. She could smirk knowingly too. _She_ didn't have to cause his death. It would come for him soon enough. "That's enough," she told her husband. "He has been punished."

Negan hesitated. He didn't like to leave rapists alive. And he didn't like to be commanded by his wives in front of his men. She narrowed her eyes, and Negan gripped Bill by the shoulders, wrenching him away from the undead.

The man writhed on the earth, his weeping appendage turning dirt to scarlet mud. She cocked an eyebrow, leaning down over him. One blond curl falling to brush the militated flesh.

"Are you still going to feed me to the Biters when you're done."

He croaked a wordless plea to this taunt, and she straightened up to meet Negan's disapproving eyes.

"He doesn't deserve to fucking live. Are you fucking sure about this?"

"I think he learned his lesson."

"Huh." Negan snorted. "My girl is vicious, but lucky for you, she's also fucking merciful. I only regret giving her a fucking choice in the matter."

She knew secretly Negan didn't regret it, because he hated seeing the Walkers feed. She saw the revulsion in his eyes. He would have rather used Lucille.

When she didn't speak, Negan sighed and glared down at the half-conscious Bill. "Listen here, you sorry fuck, because this is the most important choice of your fucking life. You forfeit your points, and your possessions and you head to a fucking outpost and don't ever let your sorry face get in my sight-line _ever again..._ or I fucking let the Walkers eat your throat out. It's messy but you'll be gone in a second so that's not so bad. You could even say it's fuckin' humane."

"I don't wanna die," Bill blubbered, his hand pawing at Negan's boot. He had urinated on himself. Snot was dripping off his chin. "I don't wanna die."

Negan yanked his boot away and pivoted to face the shaken-up Fencers. "Take care of this piece of shit. I want him gone before I get back."

Three Fencers came reluctantly forward.

"Where are you going?" Louis asked.

"To see your fucking boss, that's where. Where the fuck is he?"

Louis gave some instructions, but Jasmine tuned him out, watching as two Fencers held down Bill, while the third raised his machete. She wondered how well he'd cleaned it. There was no point amputating with an infected weapon.

Negan pushed on the small of her back, making her stumble as he started off down the row of cages and sheds. He didn't look back as Bill's agonized howl rang out behind them.

"I'm going to ship off every single one of those fuckers. Useless bastards."

"They aren't all bad. Only Bill."

"They're all fucking inept. Just like most of my guys." Negan rolled his eyes, and kicked aside a severed Walker leg in their path. "Not that it helps when you come around and distract them."

"Are you blaming the victim."

"Shut the fuck up." Negan halted before a shed at the end of the line, shoving it open with one hand. Inside was a table and a few chairs, and nothing much else. The Foreman Nolan sat there, his hand curled around a big open bottle of alcohol called _Jack Daniel's_.

Jazzi couldn't understand the appeal of it. Grandmother said that alcohol was the _devil's draught_. As such, Jasmine had always taken an extra long sip of wine when it was offered to her at church. It burned dull down her throat and in her stomach, and even between her legs. She didn't like the taste, but...it was a defiance to Grandmother she could get away with.

Nolan barely looked up as Negan made a loud entrance. Jazzi cringed. He was yelling again. Asking Nolan _if his brains had been replaced with shit_.

"Sir? What's going on?" Nolan couldn't care that much. His voice was slurred and flat.

"Your cages are full, your walkers are fucking escaping, and your men think they can do whatever-the-fuck they like...!"

"They'll get it under control," Nolan mummbled.

Negan hissed a breath through his teeth. One second later, the bottle was thrown across the room, shattering glass and alcohol all down the wall.

"Hey!" Nolan tried to lurch to his feet, but it was too much effort. He slumped back into the chair.

"Yeah, you stay sitting the fuck down, because I've got bad fucking news for you! Your fucking ass is fired! In fact, I'm thinking of shipping your entire crew to the outposts!"

Jasmine headed for the door. Bill had been dealt with, and she wasn't interested in listening to Negan rant and rave. She felt a little bad for the Fencers, especially Louis. They hadn't hurt her.

Before she could walk out, a sound made Negan shut his mouth. It was a sound Negan often mocked. _Man tears._ Nolan began to cry, his words slurred as he began to ramble. _This was his wedding anniversary, and his wife had died in his arms from the Fever and she's all he can think about these past days. He's going to pull it together, he swears._

The crying was worse than the yelling, and Negan must have thought so too. He grit his teeth, and fidgeted, his eyebrows drawing together in a grumpy frown.

The details came through blubbering and snot-bubbles. _How she'd been so hot and sweaty, her eyes unfocused. How Nolan didn't think she'd heard his last declarations of love as she began to convulse._

Negan slammed his palm onto the table. "Fucking _enough_! Look, because of your wife, and because of her only, I'll give you one more fucking chance. But if I hear you've touched even a drop of booze or let one fucking guy get away with shit - and I will hear about it – then you're fucking out of my Sanctuary, you hear me?!"

Nolan heard him. Jasmine imagined the entirety of Sanctuary had. She rubbed her ear.

They left behind the boo-hooing Foreman.

By the cages, there was a pool of blood sinking into the ground.

"We're gonna send Bill off with Ryan," Louis simpered. "Going to the closest outpost."

"Good." Negan didn't really stop to listen. Louis's eyes met hers as she walked by, and he quickly looked away. She wasn't sure why, but thought maybe Louis was scared of her now. She wasn't concerned about it. Negan was walking faster, and he'd yell if she didn't keep up with him.

She was timing their footsteps. _1, 2, 3, when would Negan speak. 5, 6, 7 definitely before 11._

At step 10, Negan grunted, darting his eyes over to her."Well, that was fucking unpleasant. From the looks of you, though, I'd say you enjoy watching a guy become brunch."

"I did."

"You creep me the fuck out sometimes, you know that? Jesus Christ, and the 'confess your sins', bullshit, like you're straight out of the fucking _Crucible_."

"The what."

"It's a movie...never-fucking-mind. Just come on. And I want you to stay the fuck away from the Fencers from now on...do you hear me?"

"I hear you." Hearing and obeying were two different things.

Now that Bill's touch was erased, she felt the much more pleasant caress of the sun. Her book was still on the car roof near Sanctuary's doors. She didn't want to return to the closed-up air of the Penthouse.

"I would like to stay outside."

"I don't give a fuck what you would like." Negan's mouth was down-turned at the corners. Nova had a foolish name for this look – 'Mr Crankypants.'. Jasmine didn't know what his mouth had to do with his pants, but the 'cranky' part was an apt description. He rubbed his hands on his jeans. There were flecks of Bill's blood on them.

"I won't go back to the Fencers."

"I said _no!_ " Negan's voice rose to an unpleasant volume.

"Please don't yell."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I'll be happier if you read on the roof, where it's safe."

She wanted to be on her car roof, but maybe he was right, and she'd seen enough Walkers for today. And he _had_ come to find her...and save her. She would do what made him happy. "Ok."

Negan strode silently ahead of her. He didn't look around at the Walkers like she did, only glancing at the ones closest to him, to ensure he wasn't in danger. She thought of Bill's cries and whimpers. A lovely contrast to his earlier bravado. That was a nice thought, and she felt her belly getting tight and a warm throb start between her legs.

She slowed her steps, her eyes trailing over Negan's broad back. He had a bit of blood splattered on the hem of his jeans. That made her throb more. She bit her lip, feeling her cheeks get warm. Maybe she could make him even _happier_ before she headed upstairs.

He turned, his dark eyes glaring. "Keep the fuck up."

She stopped, and he stopped too. He was starting to look annoyed. She hoped he wouldn't yell again. It would ruin the _mood._

"I want to have sex."

He made a noise between a grunt and a laugh. "You fucking would."

She didn't understand that statement. "Yes, I just said I would."

"Yeah. I ain't exactly up for that at the moment."

The front of his jeans wasn't sticking out. She guessed he wasn't lying. It was an issue easily solved.

She backed up against the hood of a rusted car, leaning her butt on it. Her legs spread. He raised an eyebrow, then snorted.

"Jesus H. You know, _you_ might get turned on by those dead things, but personally... they make my goddamn skin crawl. And feeding that guy to them ain't exactly what gets my engine going."

"Why not."

"I can't help but imagine it's me they're eating. Every fuckin' time I see someone succumb to one...I fuckin' feel it in my bones. Wondering how much it hurts, or for how long. Do your endorphins kick in at the end? Or what?"

"I'm sure it hurts all the way through. Do you ever wonder if the Walkers feel pain."

"I don't really care." He turned away from her.

"But Negan-" She spread her legs some more.

He looked back, his lip curling. "Knock it off. I said I ain't fucking you. You can play with that goddamn purple monstrosity of yours if you're that horny."

That was tempting. Her large silicone friend was quite enjoyable. And he was quiet too.

She followed him. The more they walked, the more she wanted to get upstairs to her toy.

He seemed to know. "You like that thing more than me?"

"It doesn't talk."

"I can not talk."

"I've never seen it."

"I thought you liked my dirty mouth."

"I do."

He turned again, confused. "So wait...me talking is a good thing?"

"It doesn't make a mess."

Negan twisted his lips. "I hardly make a mess when you make me wear those goddamn raincoats. You should've seen the mess I left on Sherry earlier."

She halted. They were passing her reading perch. She climbed up on the hood.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" She didn't know why Negan had to yell. It made Ted upset. Negan raised Lucille threateningly.

"Don't hurt Ted." She clambered onto the roof, retrieving her blanket and book. "I'm just getting my things."

He grumbled as she slid back down the hood, rust flakes dusting the butt of her jeans. She brushed them off, while Negan kept a careful eye on Ted. "Yeah, you just stay right where you are, _Ted._ And Lucille doesn't have to make you fucking _dead._ "

"I don't think he understands you." She stepped close to him. Her hand slipped onto his upper thigh, sliding upwards. Against the car would be nice, with Ted watching them.

"Hey, knock it off." He grunted as she squeezed a handful. "This is fucking sexual harassment. No means no."

"But you don't mean no."

"I mean it." He pushed her hand away.

"But you always want to have sex." Even when he'd just finished having sex, he wanted to have sex. He wanted to have sex even when he was _sleeping_. Maybe he was mad at her.

"Not always, and whipping it out with this _thing_ staring at me, and chancing some of my men walking by? Fuck that. No fucking thank you."

She shrugged. She guessed he had the right to refuse, same as she did. If she persisted, Negan might feed _her_ arm to the Walkers. Her toy would have to do. Negan bade her to 'come along.' She planned to be coming quite soon.

They were almost to the doors. She watched his hands swinging with his motions. The zippers catching sparks of light.

"You were upset. When Nolan talked about his dead wife."

Negan's step faltered. He didn't say anything.

"You wanted him to stop talking. I could tell."

"Yeah, because I don't care to hear that sentimental slop, and I doubt anyone else does either. Who hasn't lost anyone in this fucking shit storm?"

"Who did you lose."

"My prized fucking porn collection and a pretty recent, and fucking decent, I might add, remodel of my kitchen. It was fucking devastating."

He knocked on the front door, then crossed his arms over his chest.

"That's not a person."

He gave her a filthy look. "Thought you wanted to hurry upstairs to your fuckin' fake dick that keeps its mouth shut? Enough with the goddamn questions."

"Can I guess."

"No, you can't fucking guess! There's nothing to guess about!"

"You don't usually get upset when people boo-hoo."

Orson opened the door, and Negan stormed inside. "Just get your ass upstairs, and don't tell fuckin' Sherry about the shit that went down."

"It must have been a woman." She tilted her head, watching his cheeks get redder and redder, and a vein pulse in his forehead.

"Get upstairs. Or you know what? I'll fuck you all right – I'll fucking hog-tie your ass and fuck it raw! You want that!?"

She didn't want that. He'd have to tie her arms up.

Upstairs, she took what Nova called her 'Purple Pussy Eater' into the bathroom, while Sherry exchanged a disgruntled look with Amber.

"I never thought I'd end up living with a bunch of sexual deviants."

"Neither did I," Amber mumbled.

Jazzi didn't care. It was hard to take such insults seriously when Sherry was still probably dripping with Negan's _mess_.

* * *

Two days later, Jasmine took her blanket and book down onto the rusted car top. This time, Louis didn't come out to see her, and nor did he ever come find her again.

On her way back, she stopped to observe a new Walker who was chained to the fence by one arm. He growled and strained towards her. His eyes burned with malevolence as his teeth snapped.

She bumped into Negan as he came slamming out of Sanctuary's front doors. His face was red and he sucked in a breath when he saw her.

"I didn't go near the Fencers," she said quickly. "I sat on my car. I was good."

The breath in his chest deflated, leaving his face sour and grumpy. "Why can't you just stay the fuck inside like the other girls? Why are you so fucking weird?"

"I don't know."

"Get inside."

She smirked. "I came out to see the new Walker, too."

"Oh, how fucking thrilling. A new Walker, let's just call the fucking press."

"I didn't have to name him. He already had one. It's Bill."

Negan pretended to be surprised. "Aww. Must have never reached that outpost, huh? What a goddamn shame." He laughed. "You didn't expect me to actually let him live, did you? I mean, this motherfucker put his hands on you, _and_ he pulled a fucking gun on me."

"Your pride was the reason for my cessation. I knew you would kill him behind my back. You could never forgive those crimes."

Her husband looked genuinely surprised now, and then he let out a loud laugh. "Motherfuck me – you're a devious little bitch, aren't you? Why not just let me feed his face to the Walkers?"

"I could tell you were getting disgusted with it."

He chuckled. "How goddamn sweet." His eyes glinted. She knew that look. The Walker on the fence had once looked at her like that.

"You know...I think I'm in the mood to grant your little request from the other day."

Her eyes brightened. "Sex against the car. With Ted watching."

"Fuck no! I'm thinking more of sex against the wall, with Amber watching."

That wasn't as good, but still sounded nice. "Can we include my purple friend too."

"Fuck yes!"

She had never seen Negan climb those stairs so fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some stuff in this chap eludes to Jazzi's past (like the man in the white shirt) I might do a separate story about her childhood and journey to Sanctuary, but I dunno. I want to, but I doubt many would read it. Eh, maybe I will anyway! I DO WHAT I WANT


	15. These Boots Are Made For...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter with Jazzi, but this one has some dirty SMUT.

“You girls should appreciate the effort I put into getting this shit for you.” Negan set down a box filled with ‘wife garb.’ It was filled with all manners of shoes and expensive lingerie. He claimed to have raided it from a 'fussy little boutique.’ From what she could see, Jasmine could tell the items were well-crafted. She hoped that meant they weren’t itchy. Some of Negan’s favorite wife garments were dreadfully scratchy. She preferred the sleekness of leather and silk. And he liked that too.

“Your panty raiding skills are so impressive…and what is this shit?” Sherry dipped a hand into the box and withdrew a leather corset. It had cut-outs to expose the nipples. The eldest wife rolled her eyes and tossed it back. “That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s _hot_. I was thinking of you when I grabbed it.”

Sherry didn’t look happy. “We have enough of this crap.”

Jazzi wanted to look in the box. Negan’s bulk was blocking it as he stood, pouting like a gigantic baby. Why he did that…she didn’t know. He wasn’t really sad.

With an equally affronted voice, he whined. “The men were giving me epic stink-eye the whole time I was getting this stuff for you. Said we should be raiding worthwhile shit. Givin’ me a hard time for being such _a frou-frou little fag boy_ – their words, not mine. Yeah…until I reminded them of the women I’d be fucking as they wore my frou frou shit. All those fine legs in the air, wearing these boots, as I plowed their motherfuckin’ asses-”

Jazzi could tell he was getting turned on, because he started shifting his weight, but more so because she could see his erection pressing against his jeans.

Sherry snorted, not missing the signs of arousal either. “You’re right, Negan, you really _did_ work hard. It’s only right that you ought to get to wear some of this shit yourself. Why should we hog it all?”

He reached down to adjust himself. “You meet me in here later tonight, Sher, and I’ll model it for you.” He took up the corset. “I think my titties would look hot in this.”

Jasmine frowned. He didn’t have 'titties’. She tried to edge around the two of them. Their banter was boring and she wanted to look through the box. Something was catching her eye.

Sherry’s hand latched around that very something, and she made a face as she pulled it out.

A pair of thigh-high leather boots. The supple black skin dotted with silvery studs in intricate patterns. Stiletto heels of shining silver. Jasmine sucked in a delighted breath.

Sherry’s lips twisted. She didn’t like heels. “Are you shitting me, Negan? Who’s going to wear these monstrosities?”

Jasmine reached out. “I like them. I want to wear them.”

“Pah. You can have them.” Sherry shoved them into her hand.

The rest of the box was forgotten. Jazzi clutched the boots to her skinny chest, and ran to her bedroom to try them on.

——–

Negan was gone the next day. He’d been gone early in the morning, and hadn’t gotten to see her boots.

She sat on her bed and even with her skinny legs, she had to tug them on. She stretched out her legs and looked down the length of them.

“Why don’t you save those for Negan?” Sherry asked from her bed. “They can’t be comfortable, and you might break your ankle walking on them.”

“I’m fine.” Jasmine dismissed Sherry’s concern. “I want to break them in.” She wasn’t wearing them for Negan anyway. She was wearing them for herself.

She stood in front of the floor-length mirror in his room later that evening. She’d worn the 'monstrosities’ as Sherry called them, for the entirety of the day. She hadn’t broken her ankle, but they were starting to cause her feet pain. She supposed it was the 'price of fashion’ people spoke of. The price of these was in the thousands, according to the small price tag she’d stripped off.

The boots were a thing of dangerous beauty. Dark leather clutching to the mid of her pale thighs. The garb of an Amazon. The sharp studs clustered around the ankle. The heels of pure shining silver.

The front door slammed, and she jumped.

“Neegs!” She heard Nova cry.

“Outta the way, I’ve got to piss.”

She went out into the sitting room. The bathroom door was shut, and Lucille was leaned up against the wall. Her wire was bloody, so she knew the bat’s thirst was temporarily sated. What that said of Negan’s thirst was yet to be seen. Sometimes the violence brought out a sullenness in him. Other times… he translated it into raw, rough sex.

When he came out of the bathroom, he observed them all. His eyes were very dark. It was going to be the sex, then. And she knew, as he looked past all the girls and to her – standing there in her favorite black silk babydoll, and those boots, she’d be wanted in the bedroom immediately.

“You look like you’re ready to take it hard, huh?” He growled. “Get the fuck in the bedroom.”

Nova opened her mouth with a look of disappointment, but Jasmine backed away into the bedroom, and Negan’s eyes were only focused on her. He slammed the door behind him, and locked it.

She cringed at the loud bang.

He sighed and leaned back against the wood. “Shit. It’s been a rough day.”

“Lucille has been busy.”

“Poor girl only got to eat the dead. I need to get her fresh meat.” He eyed her, and she saw the front of his pants stir, like he had a snake hiding in there. The thought made her lips quirk. She liked snakes.

“Fuckin’ Kingdom was acting up. We had to teach them a lesson. I finally got a face-to-face with His fucking 'Highness’. Can you believe the gall of this guy? Refusing to have an 'audience’ with me all this time, cause I ain’t 'naught but a base barbarian’.”

Jasmine shrugged. She was only half-listening as she shifted restlessly in place, glancing down at her boots. Did he like them? Negan took his coat off and tossed it onto the fireplace armchair. Pulling his shirt off, as he continued to talk all the while.

“…I told his men…oh excuse me, I mean _his subjects_ … you want fuckin’ barbaric? I’ll give you barbaric unless you trot your happy little crown wearin’ ass out here. Had Connor break a few kneecaps.” He smirked. “That got him out of his palace in a fuckin’ hurry!”

Jasmine wasn’t really interested. She was more focused on his trouser snake. Negan droned on about a King named Ezekiel. How he ended up being 'a fat hippie with dreadlocks. And he wasn’t even wearing a crown!’ How he was objecting to the tributes they had to give the Saviors. She was bored. In a moment, she was going to start touching herself without him.

“They wanna act like it’s fucking _Medieval Times_?” Negan grinned, and finally said something that perked her interest. “I said: 'Fuckin’ fine.’ Tally-ho and shit! I took one of those fucker’s swords… and I took his goddamn _head off with it_.”

Her eyes went wide. He emulated swinging a blade, and she could see it… the hapless victim kneeling before him, the head detaching from body and rolling away. The nerves between her legs began to spark and tingle.

“I think they got my _point_ after that.” Negan chuckled.

“I want to see you kill someone.”

“You sick bitch.” He smiled, and it was cruel. “It was great, though. It’s making my dick hard just thinking about it.”

He wasn’t lying about that. She pressed her thighs together. She was aching to rub herself, to make the sensations grow.

“Yeah.” His eyes were dark with reminiscing. “Almost makes me wish they’d act up again, because that shit was _fucking awesome_!” His voice rose to a gleeful boom, and she cringed again.

“I don’t like it when you yell.”

Negan’s eyes went even darker. He was in front of her with two big strides, his hand locking around her throat. “I don’t give a singular fuck if you don’t like it.”

She squeaked as he forced her back onto the bed. His free hand tucked between her legs and ripped her panties down her thighs. He pressed a thumb into the wet spot she’d made on them. “This shit making you wet, you filthy little bitch?”

She didn’t know why he asked.

He took his hand off her neck and replaced it with his mouth. Sucking a red stinging mark on her skin. She gasped. He groped under the babydoll, pressing a thick finger inside her. She whimpered, pressing her hips into his touch.

“Oh yeah…” He breathed, curling another finger harshly up inside her. Pressing hard, lifting her hips off the bed. It hurt and she whimpered. “Leaking like a fuckin’ faucet.” He eased the fingers into a more comfortable position and she ground herself against them. It felt good. She moaned. Heated arousal flushing pink across her face and breasts.

He was bent over the bed as he finger-fucked her, and he drew his free hand down to his jeans, fumbling to undo the belt and buttons. His cheeks were getting pink too. Just a sliver of golden iris around his dilated pupils.

“Fuck…” He groaned as he spread the fly of his jeans. He didn’t remove his penis yet, and Jasmine reached towards his pants to do it herself.

“Nah…” His teeth gleamed wickedly, and he took his fingers out of her, sucking them into his mouth. She reached for him again. He stepped back. “Nope. I ain’t in the mood for condoms tonight. You know what that means?”

She swallowed hard and nodded. Another rush of nerves and tingles.

He went to the bathroom and came back with a bottle of lube, which he tossed onto the blanket next to her.

“Should I get undressed.”

“No.” He growled as he sat in the armchair by the fireplace. “Leave that shit on, and _hurry the fuck up_. You better get that ass ready for me, and quick, or I’m gonna fuck you raw.”

“Won’t that chafe your penis.”

He hissed, finally springing his erection free. “I told you not to say 'penis’ in the goddamn bedroom. Or ever. It’s a fuckin’ boner block.” His big hand wrapped his dick and began to stroke. “And hearing you scream is worth a little dick burn.”

She uncapped the lube and slicked her fingers. The gel was very thin, and ran down her wrist. She curled on her side and reached her hand behind herself.

“Turn towards me. Let me see.” His breath was getting heavier. His boner was definitely not being blocked.

She did so, circling a finger around her tight hole, teasing at it gently.

He moaned. “Fuck yeah.” She liked to watch him. He used a thumb and two fingers to grip his foreskin, pulling it up and down over the swollen, thick head. Sometimes, he’d stop to rub his thumb on the underside, in a spot she knew was very sensitive. His teeth would grit, and she could see the muscles in his stomach tense. She wanted to see him finish himself that way.

She shivered from another rush of arousal, feeling the cool air kiss the wetness between her legs. Biting her lip, she wiggled one slick finger inward. He liked that. She could tell by the noises he made. She withdrew the finger, only to thrust two inside. “Oooh.” A soft moan of her own.

“Shit!” He clenched his hand around the base of his dick, then drew it all the way up the shaft. The clear fluid of arousal beaded at his tip. “You fuckin’ ready? Huh? You’re fucking dripping! You filthy girl…you can’t wait for this cock in your fucking ass, can you, you little whore?”

His words made her squirm. Her position was awkward. She couldn’t thrust her fingers very far in, but they felt nice. He would feel even better. She shivered and spread her two fingers apart inside her.

“Well?” He demanded, and she snapped her attention back to him.

“Yes, Negan.” He liked when they said his name.

“Get the fuck over here. Now.”

She unfolded from the bed and brought the lube with her. She pooled the fluid in her hand and batted his hand away from his dick. She replaced that hand with hers, slicking him from head to base. Lube dripped down to puddle on the chair.

“Oh. What a mess.”

He didn’t care. His hand locked around her throat and he dragged her up onto his lap.

“Negan…please… go slow.” She clutched his chest as he forced her to kneel upright on his thighs. His slick head pressed to her slick entrance. Warm and hard and pressing up into her. “Ooh, ohh!” Her eyes went wide as it popped inside. It didn’t matter how many times they did this. The jolt of sensation overwhelmed her every time.

Her head flung back as he lowered her down onto his hard length. From where he pierced her, every nerve twinged. Sensation overload. She could truly perceive the thickness of him when he was inside her this way. “Oh. Oh!” Her voice nothing but a squeak.

He chuckled. She braced his shoulders to slow her descent. He stretched her as he pushed deeper inside. “Negan. Slow.”

“I am going slow.” He exhaled. “Fuck…you are always so goddamn tight! It feels like my dick is gonna fuckin’ pop.” He grinned. “Pop goes the fuckin’ weasel, right?”

She shrugged. She never really understood his jokes, if that was what they were supposed to be.

He pushed her hands off his shoulders, and pressed her down the rest of the way, laughing as she whimpered.

“Jesus fuck!” His eyes rolled back and she felt a shudder go through him. Or maybe it was her own shudder echoing back to her.

She no longer cared about taking anyone’s name in vain, but old habits died hard. “Don’t say that.”

“You telling me what to do?” He bounced her hard on his lap, and she squealed. Sparks of pain shot up her spine.

“No, no…” she whimpered and he grabbed her neck tight, squeezing until her vision went spotty. His length driving in to deliver pain and tormented pleasure. Her insides contracted over and over and she groaned as he let her neck go. Pressing her sweaty forehead against his hard shoulder, her ass clenching around him, wetness oozing down onto his jeans.

“You’re fuckin’ soaking me,” he grunted. “You gonna wash your spunk out of these pants later? Huh? Did I say you could get off on me already?”

She panted for breath, leaning back to narrow her eyes at him. “I didn’t ask.”

“Exactly.” He traced his fingers up her neck. “Too fuckin’ bad for you…I’m nowhere near being finished with you.”

“I’m not finished yet, either.” That had been far too quick for her liking.

“Hell yeah, that’s what I like to hear.” He pulled both straps of her babydoll off her shoulders, and went silent as he buried his mouth between her tits. They were so small he could nearly fit her entire breast into his mouth, and he seemed to enjoy the challenge.

She shivered and set her hands onto his shoulders. Rocking her hips back and forth. It didn’t take much movement to please her. Him deep inside, caressed by every inch of her tight passage. She felt stuffed to the brim and nearly bursting.

He held her hips while she rode him, continuing to lavish her breasts with affection. Every few moments, a soft groan would escape him and he would grind harder up into her. He turned his head finally, breathing hotly onto her wet breast. “Ugh…this is too goddamned slow.”

He stood, pulling her off him. She whimpered as he popped free. It hurt. He gripped her hair and pulled her towards the bed. Roughly, he shoved her onto her back.

“Negan… I liked it slow…”

“Too fucking bad. This ain’t about you, is it?”

His hand wrapped her neck and pinned her to the soft mattress. She cried out as he entered her again, pulling her thighs up around his hips as he stood at the edge of the bed. He didn’t pause to let her adjust. Grinding in, deep hard thrusts that rocked her entire form back and forth. She locked her ankles around his back. Sleek leather sliding against the sweat blooming on his skin. He grunted as her boot studs dug into his flesh. She smirked. Her own personal pair of spurs.

“Shit…those things are dangerous.” He ran a hand up the length of her leather-clad calf. “Sexy as all fuck though.”

“I love them.”

“Yeah. You love this too?” He leaned down to nip her ear. His hand heavy around her neck like a collar. “You filthy goddamn hussy? You love my cock stretching your little asshole?”

She nodded. He rocked into her harder, watching her nose scrunch, the sweat beading and sliding down into her blonde curls. “Yes. Please…” She whimpered, grinding up into his thrusts. She wasn’t sure if she pleaded for more, or for him to stop, because either way, she was becoming overwhelmed. She wanted his hand to tighten and send her into oblivion. The calm grey space at death’s doorstep.

“Harder? That’s what you want?” He dug his fingers into the leather at her thigh, driving in at a relentless pace. But it was no longer smooth and pleasurable. The drag of dry flesh on flesh. It was starting to hurt. She struggled to pull away, pushing her hand against the hard muscle of his stomach.

“Fuck…” He grit his teeth, bucking his hips hard into her, and each jolt felt like a stab.

She cried out. “Negan! It hurts.”

He dug his thumb painfully into the hollow of her throat, grunting in displeasure. She thought he might ignore her, but he slowed his pace after a moment. “Yeah. It’s starting to chafe. Where the fuck-?” He twisted around, eyeing the chair where the lube bottle sat. “Just a sec.”

He left her, retrieving the bottle. She burned inside, feeling sore…but still wanting more.

“This shit sucks.” He poured a large puddle into his hand. “We need like… the ass kind. What’s it called?” He laughed. “AstroTurf? Asshole Glide? Something like that?”

“Anal lube.”

He pouted, not pleased with her factual response. He would be waiting for a long time if he expected laughter for his so-called jokes, but she did grant him a relieved sigh as he prepared them both with the inadequate lube. His false offense faded as soon as he pushed his slippery cock back inside.

She arched her back, moaning, her hands drifting over her breasts and ribs. Raw pleasure shuddering over her skin.

“Better?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Cause I’m not even close to fucking you as hard as I want to be.”

He leaned over her, while she kept her boots firm around his back. Planting one hand next to her. The other braced on her throat. His balls slapped her skin as he pounded inward. Her breath was labored, only short sips of air allowed into her aching lungs. He bit at her ear, left a stinging red mark of teeth on her breast. She returned the favor with nails dug into his chest and dragged downwards.

“Fuck!” He yelped as her second clawing nearly drew blood. “Jesus Christ, do you sharpen those claws of yours?”

“Negan,” she moaned. “Do it.”

He grit his teeth, continuing to batter her with hard thrusts. The mattress creaking underneath. His breathing was erratic, his hand hot and moist with perspiration as it clenched her neck. “Not yet.”

“Negan…please.” She was too overwhelmed, spent from the aching inside. Her muscles tense, her heart pounding. “I want to orgasm.”

“I ain’t ready yet.” He nipped at her breast again. “Shit, when you go off the edge, you take me right fuckin’ with you.”

She gave him three more thrusts before begging him again.

“Sssh…” He hissed. “I said-”

His eyes went wide as she clawed him again. Begging wasn’t going to work. So she was going to _demand_. She turned her head and sank her teeth into his arm.

“Ow, goddammit!” He smacked her ass, a stinging blow that only made her dig her teeth in further.

“Do it…” she growled, her words muffled around his wincing flesh. He sucked in a breath, trying to wrest his arm away. She didn’t let go.

“Oww! _Fuck!_ You spend too much time around those undead fuckers.” He grimaced and tried to pry her mouth open, only to have his fingers snapped at by quick teeth.

She dug into his arm before he could pull it away. He tugged on his trapped flesh, a slight whimper escaping.

“ _Fuck_ , Jazzi! Fucking let go! I’ll give you what you want, babe, just stop cannibalizing the fuck outta me!”

She chuckled softly, and loosened her teeth. The wet crescents of her bite marks graced his arm. He was so melodramatic. She hadn’t even broken skin.

“Crazy bitch…” He huffed and trailed off, his eyes glinting darkly. “Next time I’m gonna put a fucking muzzle on you.”

“Negan…” She squirmed under him, grinding against his length. _“Do it!”_

“You want it? You fuckin’ got it.” He nipped hard at her ear, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted -

His fingers tightened on her throat. She squeaked. There was so much crushing strength in those appendages. She wished she could watch him choke someone to death – she imagined she was the victim. Her air was denied then, save for the withering breath left in her lungs. She writhed on the bed, her eyes going wide. She could feel the blood rushing to her face to redden it. Cheeks burning.

He pushed her neck down into the mattress, that big hand covering her. Relentless. His cock digging into her, in out in out. Her eyes fading. Her blood pounding. Every inch of him inside. His veins, his blood, his violence. One hand clutched at his choking arm, feeling the hard muscle and bone, the sheer power. The second hand nestled between her legs, rubbing fingers onto that spot that throbbed and begged for touch.

Faintly, she heard him encouraging her to climax, his voice a rough, throaty growl. She could barely see his face anymore. But she could feel everything…in these last moments before the blackness.

Her eyes went wide when he forced two thick fingers inside her cunt, her body filled to a delicious breaking point. She wanted to scream. Her body desperate for air. She was too weak to move him. Bucking helplessly into the fierce slams of his hips, her fingers moving wild between her legs, his fingers curling up inside into the core of her.

It was too much! She needed air! Life! Breath!

She needed to…

Release!

She couldn’t voice her elation, but he could feel it as her body convulsed. A warmth spread into every cell of her body. Her head tossing, her ass tightening around him in spasms. He took his hands away, and she drew in great gasping breaths. She clasped her hands over her rib cage, trying to hold the feeling inside. She could only contain it so long before it seeped away through her fingers.

“Fucking shit…” He groaned. “That is so-” He didn’t finish his thought. Gripping her thighs and pulling her into him. He needed that feeling too. Choking out another groan, grinding his cock in. Hard thrusts, the hardest yet, like he wanted to force his entire self inside. “Shit…s-s-shit..!” He went rigid and suddenly, limp. His head bowed as he drew in panting breaths. She could feel his semen oozing out of her and onto the sheets.

“What a mess,” she said.

He gasped a laugh. Gentle this time as he removed himself from her. He curled onto his side amongst the rumpled blanket, his eyes closed as he came down from the high of orgasm. “The bigger the mess, the better the fuck.”

Well, that was true. She nodded.

“Not saying much. Must not have been good.”

“It was good.” She felt very sleepy. And sore. And very much in need of bathing. For now, she closed her eyes and let her body recover.

Negan’s finger softly touched her neck. She half-opened her eyes to see that odd look he sometimes got. Like he regretted his rough actions. “You’re gonna bruise again. And Sherry’s gonna give me shit about it.”

Sherry needed to mind her own business. Jasmine wasn’t interested in their domestic disputes. “That isn’t my problem.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Admiring her beautiful boots. It was time to take them off, and wash her body clean. “I’m glad you liked my boots.”

“Yeah, I liked the _fuck_ outta those boots.” He laughed into the sheets. “You are one weird fucking bitch.”

“Thank you.” She took it as a compliment.

She started to slide off the mattress, and he grabbed the strap of her babydoll. She froze, not wanting to rip it.

“Where you going?” He smirked. “Don’t you want to cuddle?”

“I don’t like cuddling.” He knew that. She stared off at the bathroom door.

“Come on.” He tugged at the strap. “Keep your Negan company. He had a long day.”

“I gave you company.” She tried to pry his fingers off. “Don’t rip it.”

“I won’t if you cuddle with me.”

She eyed his fingers, thought about biting him again. He was pouting at her, which had little effect. She knew he was only trying to get his way. She shifted back onto the bed, curling up tight next to him. He pulled her closer and she whimpered.

“Damn, girl, you know how to make me feel loved.” He chuckled, pressing his face into her hair. A long contented sigh escaped him.

“I don’t love you.”

Another chuckle shook the entire bed. “Shit…” He squeezed her hip. “And people said _I_ was too fucking honest. At least the other girls _pretend_ they like me.”

“I like you.” She was getting tired of this already. Her skin was too hot and sweaty. She wanted to wash away the squishy feeling of semen and lube. “The other girls like you.”

“Yeah, yeah…it was just…” He yawned. “Forget it…”

“Can I come to the Kingdom with you next time. I want to behead someone.”

“Fuck no. As fun as it was, they’re behaving for the moment. No need to take anyone else out.”

She sighed.

“Tell you what…?” He pulled her flush against his chest and kissed her neck. “How about I take you out shoe shopping?”

Her eyes lit up. “Boots.”

“Yeah. Boot shopping. And we can break them _all_ in, if you know what I’m saying…”

“I would love that.”

She squirmed and he loosened his arm. She turned around to face him, and he laughed as she planted a kiss on his chin.

“I know you would, you filthy bitch.” He smirked. “Because you actually _said_ you would love it.”

Her lips quirked slightly. He laughed again and pushed her blonde curls into her face, mussing them all up. “Alright, alright. Git the fuck outta here. I know you can’t stand cuddling.”

She sprang off the bed and headed for the shower. Stripping off her favorite new boots, already envisioning their replacements, and all the pleasure that would go along with breaking them in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hopefully this made up for the last chapter. The cuddling at the end of this chapter was a suggestion from my friend and fellow Comic Negan writer https://archiveofourown.org/users/217. :)


	16. I'll Cut You a Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, with this snippet, it’s getting close to Issue #100 (Glenn’s death). Since my story is a bit AU, I stretch the time out between events. Amber’s been a wife for about a year.
> 
> In comic canon, a Hilltop delivery to the Saviors supposedly ‘goes bad’, resulting in Hilltop deaths and a woman named Crystal being captured by the Saviors. Another man involved in the delivery, Ethan, stabs Gregory saying it’s the only way to ‘save Crystal’ from the Saviors. In my version of the story, Ethan and his group may not be as innocent as they seem.
> 
> Other notes: despite never being harmed by Negan and the girls insisting he never would, Amber has always been slightly nervous around him. She’s a bundle of nerves by default. This snippet starts off with Amber heading to the Sanctuary storeroom to retrieve wax for a candle-making class she and Sherry run for Sanctuary’s children.

_It’d be nice, if I had… a badge or something. To show I’m Negan’s wife._ Amber’s mouth twisted glumly. _His property._

Everyone knew not to mess with Negan’s stuff. She only hoped she was recognizable enough to traverse Sanctuary unscathed.

Her flats scuffed the floors, echoing in the long hallways of the factory’s basement level. She stopped often, her breath sucked in, her ears open and alert. Swinging her oil lantern around her. Her circle of light was both protection and a hazard. She could see…but they could see her first…

_There’s no Walkers down here… there just aren’t…_

But there might be men, there might be hungry men who would see her as a devil-send, someone they could carry out all their lust and violence on, undeterred here in these dark corridors.

A small whimper escaped her…she shivered and walked onward.

_Spiders, rats…there must be._

An unwanted memory surfaced – Mark’s hand clenched around a large, squealing rat, beating it to death on a concrete wall. She remembered her tears at the sounds it made, her stomach clenching in both hunger and nausea as they cooked it over a weak fire. They had to choke down the half-raw meat.

She saw a hand-painted sign that read ‘Storerooms This Way’; the same one Sherry had told her about. She turned left at the hallway’s end, following another sign. Up ahead, the darkness was slowly lightening – someone must be down here. Soft wings brushed the interior of her stomach – her butterflies warned caution. She heeded them – turned her lantern off, stepped lightly.

Another turn, the light brighter still. She peered around the corner. The hallway dead-ended in a cul-de-sac of doors. Three doors closed, one half opened, spilling light. From within it, she heard someone cough, the sound of something sliding across the floor.

She had just slid her foot around the corner, when a barrage of shrieks and swears came from behind the closed middle door. The voice was female. Her heart neglected a beat and she clenched her hand over her mouth, melting back into the shadows. Rapid footsteps shuffled. She dared a peek. A man was opening the middle door, entering it. Something about his build made her nerves jump – and when he spoke inside…

“Ma'am, please… this isn’t doing any good.”

She knew the voice.

_Mark._

“It’s pissing you off, that’s enough for me, you fucking asshole!” The unseen female was seething, each word bitten off viciously.

“I’m not pissed…” Mark’s voice was soft, but the dead-end hallway, the concrete walls and floor…they carried the sound straight to her ears. “I’m just trying to help you.”

The woman made a spitting noise. “Yeah, trying to 'help’ as you help yourselves to our stuff that you stole from us!”

“It isn’t like you guys aren’t prosperous,” Mark protested, “You have more than enough…”

“Is that what your High and Mighty Negan says? That’s what helps you delusional idiots sleep at night, huh?” She laughed and it had the edge of hysteria. “When are you going to summon the All Mighty to come see me, anyway? Or are you just gonna kill me?”

There was a long sigh. “He’s coming soon. Look…you can’t be like this. You need to cooperate, don’t make him angrier… he’s already angry… but cooperate and he might let you live.”

“Fuck you, Savior, fuck your stupid leader.” A sound, vulgar and thick, the clear sound of spit being expelled. Mark let out a small cry of disgust.

“Fine…” His voice was hard, but he’d never been able to sound too menacing… he just wasn’t like that. His heart was flowers and feathers, too bright and sweet for this world. She heard his feet shuffle; Amber moved her face to the very edge of the wall, keeping perfectly still.

He came out, closed the door and twisted a deadbolt. Blond head bowed, one hand wiping his face. He didn’t look up, making his way to the room with the half-opened door. Her heart thudded over another beat, and she felt a rush of shivers down towards the junction of her legs, a tingle in her breasts. She heard the sound of something, a box maybe, sliding across the floor again.

She slid into the hallway, standing indecisively. Her sudden arousal frightened her… _stop it, you can’t think about him like that…_

She shouldn’t even be near him.

But…

_I have to get the wax, right? And Negan’s not around… no one is. It’ll be fine…if I just… talk to him._

So, she approached the door with her heart banging hard against her ribs. Her butterflies flew, but it seemed a joyous flight when she looked in, when she saw him. He had cardboard boxes and milk crates in a half-circle around him. Things from the Hilltop’s last drop, she assumed, seeing canned and boxed food. A whole crate of lettuce heads and carrots. A box brimming with health care items, shampoos and soaps. He appeared to be organizing the things, cataloging them into a large notebook. The room was filled with shelves already stocked with Sanctuary’s goods.

“Hey…” she said.

He jumped, head whipping up. Blue eyes wide, his blond hair tousling across his forehead. His mouth dropped.

“A-A-Amber?” He set down a can of peas, stood up abruptly. “What…what are you doing here…?”

Her feet propelled her forward without thought, she was on him in an instant. Her arms locked around him, her breasts to his chest, but no… that was too much. She stepped back, cheeks flushed.

He drew in a breath. “Wow. Uh… hi.” He smiled, and they both laughed.

She gnawed her lip as the silence fell back in, awkward and strange. “Well,” she cleared her throat. “I came down looking for candle-wax.” She looked around the room. “Um…is this stuff from the Hilltop?”

“Yeah. I’m usually the one who organizes it,” he said. “Not a bad gig.”

More awkwardness. “Who’s that lady?” Amber asked, finally. “In that room?”

“From the Hilltop. It’s uh…not good, Amber.” Mark rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “They attacked us on this drop. Her and the group bringing the stuff…they put Walkers in the van behind the supplies. So our guys would get attacked when they opened the door and started taking stuff out.”

“Oh shit.” Amber grimaced. Negan was going to be _pissed._ She could already hear the profanity-laced rants coming from him; she just hoped he calmed down by the time he turned in for the night. Her stomach flopped as Mark voiced her sudden thought.

“Amber, look…I’m uh…happy to see you.” He didn’t sound happy, “But…he’s coming down to talk to her. Negan. If he sees us together… You need to go. You have to go.”

The redness drained from her cheeks. The imagery was too horrible if Negan were to see them. His imagination going off the rails, imagining her and Mark screwing in the storeroom behind his back, making a _fool_ out of him… A hard shudder went through her.

_He’d kill me…he’d fucking kill me._

“Ok..” she said. “Um… I’ll go.” She didn’t move though, her eyes traveling his face. She’d forgotten how cute he was. That overgrown white-blond hair, the freckles on his nose. Luminous blue eyes, wide and meek, so unlike her husband’s predatory gaze.

She touched his cheek with her fingers, then with her lips… no…she couldn’t be doing this, but she was… she was pressing her mouth to his. He moaned and his tongue jostled hers.

She pulled back, gasping from the pain in her heart. Too much. Stupid idea.

“I should thank you for what you did,” Mark said, low-voiced. “For your…sacrifice. But…I just can’t.”

“I know.” She wiped the sudden tears from her cheek. “It’s ok.” He looked healthy and fit again. He had the color back in his skin. “Just seeing you alive…it makes it worth it.”

He didn’t say anything. He took her hand, looked at it, turned it gently. “Are you happy, Amber? Does he… hurt you…?”

She skipped pointedly over his first question; it was no use to answer. To ask for happiness in this hell of a world was greedy… to merely survive was a blessing enough.

_I’m living the good life… compared to… compared to how it could be. How dare I ask for happiness on top of it…?_

She had to shut those wishes down quick. She pulled her hand back, balled it at her side. Had to erase his touch, all the hazy, blissful memories that went with it. She shook her head. “He’s not a saint, but he doesn’t hurt us. I’m ok, Mark, really. I hope you are too.” She hesitated. “And…if you find someone or already have, please…be with them, ok?”

He sighed. “Yeah. Sure, Amber.” He looked back at the mess on the floor. “I should get back to work, and you really gotta go.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. Tears were crowding her throat and eyes. She blinked them away, feeling the air hit her wet eyelashes in a shock of cold. She had just left the room when the echoing hallways brought noises.

Footsteps. An English accent. The Savior, Connor. “You want to talk to the bitch first?”

And then, _his voice._

“Yeah. I think so.”

Oh shit. Oh shit! She scrambled back into the room. Mark was already rushing to a closet, throwing the door open. It was filled to the brim with blankets and he ushered her towards it. “Quick,” he hissed. “Get in…be quiet…don’t move…”

She did, and he shut the door in her face. Literally. She was nearly pressed up against it and the shelves dug into her back and buttocks. Her breath huffed in and out, loud, too loud. She locked her muscles down, only jumping slightly when Negan’s voice filled the room she’d just occupied.

“At least tell me we got some good shit out of this. _Please_ tell me we got some good shit. Huh, Mark?”

“There’s…there’s some good shit in here. Sir.” Mark’s voice was trembling, and Amber scowled.

_Get it under control, Mark! Damn it!_

If there was one thing Negan _wasn’t_ oblivious to, it was fear. He could suss it out as surely as a shark could smell blood in the water.

“Fucking hell…seven fucking men dead.” Something was kicked over – it sounded like one of the boxes of canned goods from the horrible racket it made - and Mark gasped. “Oh, but we got some goddamn _canned peas_! Fucking fantastic.”

“There’s some meds in here,” Mark tried to soothe his leader. “Prescription stuff. They must’ve gone into the city to get it.”

“Yeah? Any fucking weed?”

“Um yeah. I think so.” There was the sound of rustling.

“Hand it over.” Negan gave a displeased grunt. “Meh. Nova will be happy, anyway. Still…this is fucking it?”

Connor’s accented voice rang out. “Wankers had to have room to hide away the fuckin’ Biters, eh? They put just enough shite in the back of the van to hide them.”

“So fucking clever…” Negan’s voice was dark with sarcasm. “And these fuckheads really think they’ll get away with this? What are they hoping to accomplish, aside from getting themselves killed?” He snorted. “But Gregory hasn’t proven himself to be particularly motherfuckin’ smart. Still…I didn’t think he was _suicidal_.”

Mark’s voice still had a clear tremor. “…you’re going to attack the Hilltop, sir?”

“No. That would be stupid. But I’ve obviously been too fucking soft on them…” There was a slight pause. “Are you feeling all right, Mark? You seem flustered.”

“It’s just the woman,” Mark said quickly. “She was yelling threats and things. When I went in to tell her to shut up, she spit on me.”

“Ugh…thanks for the warning. I _hate_ it when they do that…it’s so fucking disgusting.”

“Sir,” said Connor, sounding impatient. “Can we go now? I want a crack at this fuckin’ cunt-”

“Yeah. All right.”

Amber’s breath let out in a slow, quiet stream of air. She could smell the coffee she’d drank earlier.

But Negan hadn’t moved. She didn’t hear his feet clomping away, instead, he was quiet. She heard someone inhale. Her heart started to pound again – a quiet Negan was not a good sign. It meant he was thinking. She heard footsteps now, starting to pace the room, coming close to her closet. Every muscle went rigid. The breathing was louder now, another long inhale.

“Man,” said her husband’s voice, frighteningly close by, “I just noticed. It smells motherfucking good in here. Do you smell that, Connor?”

“Yeah, I smell somethin’,” said Connor, increasingly impatient. “Flowers or some shite…but boss-”

“Yeah! That’s it. Smells like…” Another sniff. “Fucking lilacs or something. Right?”

“Like I know what a fucking lilac smells like.”

Amber’s teeth were out, dug into the meat of her palm. Hard, wincing from the pain, but hoping it would deter the panic rising in her throat. Her butterflies were on crack, flying in mad circles. On her skin, she could smell it – the lilac lotion she’d slathered on this morning. She could feel Negan’s arms around her – this morning too – when he’d embraced her from behind and kissed her neck, and then left for the day with her scent lingering in his senses…

_He knows, he fucking knows I’m here, oh shit…_ Tears were welling in her eyes. She was locked up so hard that her muscles ached. She debated opening the door, spilling to her knees before him, begging him to forgive her, to believe her when she pleaded: _Nothing happened, I didn’t fuck him, I love you – don’t kill me._

“Oh, you know what?” A laugh edged his voice, and his footsteps moved back towards the center of the room, where Mark was. “I’m probably just smelling myself.” Another laugh, one of those dark ones, the kind Amber hated – the cruelty evident. “I got real close and personal with Amber and her sweet-smelling skin this morning. Like, skin-on-fucking skin, if you know what I’m saying.”

“Nice, boss,” said Connor, and Amber could almost hear him rolling his eyes.

“You could practically suffocate between those fucking titties of hers, and I couldn’t imagine a better way to go,” said Negan dreamily. “Her titties are fucking amaaazing. Shit, they’re almost more than my big ole hands can hold.”

Connor gave a quiet chuckle, but there was no sound from Mark. Amber’s cheeks weren’t pale anymore. She could feel the blood burning red.

_Shut up, you damn kiss-and-tell, don’t tell them this shit! Especially Mark…_ She bit deeper into her flesh.

But Negan didn’t shut up – did he ever? Her anger was rising, eclipsing her fear. Now she wanted to burst out of the closet, but only so she could plant her foot straight into his balls.

He gave a snorty, derisive laugh. “She’s not a bad lay, but she’s atrocious at giving head.” He paused for a second, then amended. “I’ll give her credit though. She _has_ gotten better.”

She could taste blood now, anger spiking through like a solar flare. _Oh, you just wait till your next 'atrocious’ blowjob, hubby. I’m gonna suffer an unfortunate seizure. One that involves a lot of involuntary convulsions and teeth-grinding._ The thought of him screaming and sobbing in agony made her feel better – but only slightly.

Mark still said nothing. What the fuck was he supposed to say?

She could practically hear him grin, as Negan laid the contriteness on thick. “Shit. What am I doing, Mark? Laying my problems on you? I’m fucking sorry about that. You don’t have to deal with that shit anymore, _do you_?”

“Uh…” Mark gave a nervous laugh. “No, sir.”

The anger-eclipse was fading, and the fear was shining its dark light once again. Negan’s voice was so sweet…he liked to wrap his darkest threats in sugar and spice. This was it, his fun was over, and he was going to throw the closet open and punish them both-

“Sir, can we fuck off now – think about the boys. What that bitch did to them-”

“Ugh, yes,” Negan growled, “Christ, Connor, don’t get your fucking panties in a wad. We’re going.”

She felt weak, leaning her forehead against the door as Negan and Connor’s footsteps exited the room.

In a moment, she heard Mark’s voice whispering. “Amber, I’m opening the door. Sssh.”

She stepped out, stretching her stiff muscles. Mark motioned her to stay, and he crossed to the door, peeping out.

She heard Connor. “Yeah, Mark?”

“Oh. Just wondering if you needed help.”

“Nope. We got it, mate.”

“Um. All right.”

Mark ducked his head back into the room, shook it at Amber. He crept up to her, whispered in her ear. “Connor’s standing right at the door where she is – he’ll see you if you try to leave. Just get back in the closet. Until they go.”

She nodded, and returned to her hiding spot, closing the door most of the way. She leaned back against the shelving, letting her head settle onto one of the soft blankets. She stood quiet, and listened – she could hear clear into the next room with the woman, she could hear almost everything.

She heard things she never wanted to hear again.

———-

The woman’s voice rang out, sardonic and cutting. “Oh. More assholes! Hey you. Why don’t you take that bat and shove it up your ass?”

The sounds carried so well…Amber could close her eyes and see everything played out on the black of her eyelids.

“Dearie me. That’s no way to treat your hosts, ma'am. Hosts that are already motherfucking offended, I might add.” Negan, all smiles, but his malicious eyes saying that was a lie – that you were _fucking fucked_.

“Screw you, asshole.”

“Should we cut out her tongue? She doesn’t really need it. I can always fetch a pen and paper for her to write on.”

The woman was silent. He sighed. “Why don’t we start over, huh? Hi! I’m Negan. And you are…?”

“ _You’re_ Negan? So, you’re a real guy after all?”

“Yes, I am a real guy after all. Am I what you expected?”

The woman laughed harshly. “A big ugly goon? Yeah.”

“Ugly?” Amber could hear him pouting. “Connor,” he said, highly affronted, “Does that mean you were _lying_ all those times you said I was pretty?”

Connor chuckled. “Don’t listen to this shite, boss. I still think you’re hot.”

The woman growled, dog-like. “What do you bastards want?”

“What do I want?” Amber shivered. Negan’s voice had gone utterly black. “I want to smash your fucking skull like a ripe pumpkin. A fate that’s far too _fast_ for you.”

Amber heard the woman make a small noise, like a squeak.

“…but that would be a waste of potential, and I have other things to consider than my own petty revenge. Right? And so do you, _dear_. We can help each other – and you can fucking live through this. How does that sound?”

The woman was silent. Thinking it over. Her response was an intake of breath and then the outtake, the clear sound of phlegm dislodging from her throat.

Apparently, Negan hadn’t heeded Mark’s warning; he gave a disgusted little shriek. “That was motherfucking uncalled for!”

The woman laughed.

“Nasty bitch,” he growled. And then his voice, startled again: “Whoa!” - the woman screeched and there came a 'thlack’ of something impacting flesh.

Negan’s voice was increasingly annoyed, growling low. “Alright. That was a lucky shot, bitch. And I’ll give it to you. But unless you want me to fucking hit you back – and I don’t like hitting ladies…but I _will_ \- then I suggest you quit your little kung-fu act.”

“I got her, boss.” There was a scuffling sound.

“Why don’t we all just fucking calm down for a moment, huh? Should we start over… again? Annoying as you are, I’m still willing to give you a chance.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” the woman said. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it.” Her voice was quivering.

“Do you want me to kill you?”

Silence.

“How loyal are you to Gregory? The motherfucker who set you up for suicide? He obviously doesn’t give two shits about you, sending you on this asinine mission. Sure, it killed _some_ of my fucking guys, but it’s akin to killing a few hornets instead of torching the fucking nest. Right?”

Silence.

“You can return the favor. I don’t want you all dead. That’s counter-fucking-productive… but Gregory needs to be taught a lesson for fucking with me. I thought he had better sense than that, but apparently, even _I_ can make mistakes. Crazy, I know.” Amber could almost see his eyes sparkling, throwing a flirty little wink as he said this. “So…all you have to do… is go back there. And put a fucking knife in his goddamn throat. And we can call it fucking even.”

“Gregory didn’t have shit to do with it,” she said. “I’m not going to kill him. It was our own plan.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really.” Her voice was shaking again.

He traced his fingers along Lucille’s barbs – or Amber imagined he did so – and hummed to himself. “You know, I don’t really give a shit, honestly. That shit is semantics. Whether or not he planned it… good ole Gregory is still ultimately in control of you people. Or rather…he _would_ be in control if he wasn’t such a pathetic fuck. The responsibility still lies with him – he’s gonna pay for it, for what you did…”

“I’m not doing your dirty work, Negan. You can go fuck yourself. Like I said, go stick that bat up your ass, and fucking spin on it for all I care.”

“Nah…Lucille’s not really into ass-play, but seriously…”

The woman gave a sudden gasp; Amber could imagine him holding Lucille out, pressing the barbed end into her soft cheek. Leering down the length of the bat, his voice going dark and tangled again, thorny with threat. “…this shit can go two fucking ways. Easy or motherfuckin’ hard. Should I elaborate? Yeah, I think I should.

Either you go in and gut that fat fuck, shoot him, pop his head off, I don’t give a fucking fuck – or _I_ go in there, and I will kill every fucking person who gets between me and him… and I won’t bother knocking, either. So what’s it going to to be, you devious little cunt? Huh? You want it fucking hard?”

Mark looked over at her, knee-deep in his boxes, his eyes wide. She could only shrug at him. Whatever Negan was going to do to her – there was no way she could stop him, and _that crazy bitch brought it on herself. What kind of idiot attacks him?_

“I’ll do it…if you let the others go. I have to see you let them go.”

“The others? There’s only one left, sweetie. One of your group escaped our truck but got caught by the Biters on our fence. Ate his fucking face off - Well, that’s motherfucking karma for you…after the way you killed our fucking boys. Oh, and the other one? The big guy? - yeah, he got stupid. Thought he’d pull a fuckin’ gun on us – took about eight bullets to the chest.”

“They’re… dead…?” The woman’s voice was faint. “What…what about Ethan…? He’s got brown hair and a red coat…”

“That’s the one left. What, is that your boyfriend or something?” The Savior Leader sounded pleased with the information.

“You…you killed them all…” Now she was crying. And suddenly, mayhem.

She screamed. There came a thud, a sound of something wooden – a chair maybe, falling over. Connor yelled, “Fuckin’ bitch!”

A scuffle of feet. A yell, startled and pained – it sounded like Negan, and then he was cursing, cursing a storm, and she heard a sound like fists colliding with flesh. Pained, choked gasps.

Negan snapped, “That’s enough.”

The sounds stopped, but the lull was short. Negan’s laughter rang out, laced with incredulity. “ _That_ was your Hail Fucking Mary? You really thought that was going to work!? How fucking stupid are you?”

“Fuck you!” Her scream was more of an airy whistle. “Fuck you!”

A stinging smack of flesh on flesh rang out, and again Negan snarled, “That’s _enough_ , Connor.”

“Boss, are you all right?”

“Yeah…watch her a second…”

Footsteps. Amber quickly shut the door, and Mark fumbled with some of the canned vegetables, dropping one to cover the sound of the closet closing.

“Oh, glad to see you rushed to our fucking aid,” Negan sneered, and as Mark began to apologize, he continued, “Shut the fuck up, and just find me a fucking bandage or some shit…”

“You’re bleeding,” Mark said, “Are you ok, sir?” There came the frantic sound of him pawing through a box. “That looks bad.”

“I can’t really feel it…fucked up as that sounds.”

“That means it’s deep,” Mark said. “You might need stitches.”

“Fucking fantastic. Whoever frisked that bitch for weapons is gonna be hanging on the fucking fence.”

“Ok. Just hold still, sir.”

There wasn’t any talk for a few minutes, just the sound of Mark ripping something papery, and Negan making a few noises of discomfort. Amber wanted badly to see what had happened, but she supposed she’d find out later. A cut or stab, she figured, the woman’s desperate attempt to take him out.

“That’s good enough for now…” her husband said, finally, “..all right, back to it.” He paused. “Sorry you have to hear this nastiness, Mark. But if we let them get away with this…they’ll think they can try anything. You know how important the Hilltop is to us, to our _survival_.”

“I know,” said Mark.

Footsteps receded. She heard the woman, her voice defiant still, but marred with fear. “Oh, you’re still alive…that’s too bad…”

“Like a fuckin’ little scratch is going to kill me,” Negan scoffed. “Gimmie a fucking break. Well, now that you got that shit out of your system, have you considered my offer? Even a little bit?”

“What the hell do you think, asshole?”

“I’d say no.”

“I hope it gets infected,” she spat. “I hope you get gangrene.”

“What a lovely girl you are,” he chuckled. “So very fucking pleasant. You know, you remind me of my first wife.” His chuckle morphed into a full blown laugh; the woman was undoubtedly confused.

“Must be one desperate bitch to marry you,” she said, finally.

“Must be…” He said. Grinning. Eyes dark. Amber could see it. He was laughing, but underneath he was a smoldering coal. Every word of hers was puffing him into flame. “But that was a compliment. She’s feisty. Spirited. Hard to break. Not that I would want to break _her_ – but you on other hand…” He sighed, a long, weary rattle of air. “I can see it’s not going to fucking happen. You aren’t going to break - just look at you. Tough as fucking nails, fuckin’ tatted and pierced to shit.”

Silence.

“Do you like that look, Connor? All those fucking piercings?”

“It’s alright,” said the Brit.

“Yeah. How many is that in each ear, sweetie? Six? A bit much, don’t you think? You look like a fucking pincushion.”

Silence.

“Sometimes less is fucking more. You know?”

Crystal gave a pained, abrupt shriek. “OH! You asshole! You fucking – NO!” Another shriek.

“Sorry, sorry,” said the Savior Leader, a laugh edging his words. “Had to make both sides match.”

Crystal was breathing loud, whimpering with each inhale.

“Heh. That was kind of fun. Like pulling wings off a fly. Right?” He chuckled. “I know what you’re thinking, but I actually _wasn’t_ the kid who torched ants with a magnifying glass or any of that shit.”

“F-f-fuck you.” There was another whimper. Then Crystal cleared her throat and spoke in a stronger tone. “You piece of shit… yank them all out! If that’s what gets you off!”

“It really doesn’t. I don’t enjoy hurting women.” Negan let out a long sigh, and Amber envisioned him pinching the bridge of his nose. “ _You’re_ not going to break. That’s fuckin’ clear. But we still have your little fuck-buddy.”

Silence.

“Connor…go deliver these to that Ethan guy. Tell him we’re gonna start with her fucking fingers next. Huh? Let’s see if _he’s_ up for a little dirty work.”

Amber heard the squeak of footsteps, and she quickly closed the closet door, peering out through the crack. A man passed by with the flash of a green mohawk; Connor heading off with something clutched in his fist.

Negan continued in a sweet tone. “You ever tried these kind of kitchen shears? Eh…you don’t seem the cooking type. But whatever. These are fucking awesome. Did you know they can cut right through bone?”

There was fear in her voice now. “Fuck you…! You…you burn in hell, you son-of-a-bitch!”

“Hell’s where all the cool kids go. So I’ve heard. I think I’ll fit right in.”

“You bastard…you… you _shithead_.”

Negan shrugged, or Amber imagined it. He was probably leaning against the door frame, his hands smeared with blood, his face utterly impassive. “I gave you the choice to play nice…don’t blame _me_ for your bad decisions.”

Horror was hard to hold in. Amber pressed the heel of hand to her mouth. Trying to quell her thoughts…the thoughts brought panic…but they scurried like roaches exposed to light.

_Negan, you wouldn’t really do that, would you? Oh my god._

Stories, visions, flashing through, a frenzied edit of light and sound. His deeds and misdeeds, all the things she’d heard…things the wives had confirmed…

_He’s stabbed, he’s strangled, he’s beaten-_

Necks snapped like twigs, bones broken, the Iron, the fucking Iron,

_-and kitchen shears on fingers is supposed to be a shock? He would do it, he’s gonna do it…_

And it wasn’t even that he’d be removing her fingers, but that was just the point where he was going to _start_. And she would have to hear it, every damn part of it.

“You’re insane.”

“Yeah,” agreed Negan, sounding distracted. “Hold that thought.” There was the thud of a door, and the thump of footsteps. Amber shut the door fully, breathless in the dark confines.

_There is nothing you can do. Nothing._

_The only thing for you is to hide. Avoid discovery._

_Nothing else._

She sipped air in like hot tea, just short gasps through her parted lips.

“Sir…? D-d-do you need my help…?”

“Nah. Well, yes, actually. There’s fucking tools in here, right? Does there happen to be a blowtorch?”

“…uh…er…yeah…I think…” Mark sounded light-headed, like he might swoon at any minute. Feet walked, something banged. “Um…here…here you go, sir…”

“Awesome. Fucking perfect.”

A hiss of air, a puff of ignition. The torch expelled its fiery wrath for a moment, then was shut off.

“W-w-what…what’s that for…?”

Negan was perfectly calm. No inflection whatsoever, nothing rattling his cage. He said it like a weatherman would describe the blandest summer day. “Cauterization.”

The other man seemed to be having trouble breathing – Amber pressed her hand hard to her lips, tried to shut her ears to it.

“Mark? You’re fucking ghost-pale, man. Here…sit down. Yeah? You ok? Take a fucking breath. Do you need that fucking… thing? What’s it called – inhaler?”

Mark breathed hard. “I’m…I’m alright.” After a minute, he discharged his inhaler and his breathing evened out.

“I don’t know why _you’re_ so upset…I’m the one who has to do this shit..” Negan growled. “Motherfucking bastards. Like this is how I want to spend my goddamn day… getting dirty.”

“Sir.” Connor’s voice. “We got a wee problem. Fuckin’ bloke didn’t believe me.”

“What do you mean, he didn’t believe you?”

“About Ms. Crystal-bitch’s earrings. Said we could’ve got them from anywhere. Said we could’ve just taken 'em out real gentle-like and rubbed blood on 'em. Or maybe it’s ketchup! Nah, mate, he didn’t say that last bit. Heh. But the rest, yeah.”

There was a stretch of silence; Amber could only imagine the dumbfounded look on Negan’s face. Eyes wide, mouth dropped. Finally, he sputtered something halfway between a laugh and a snort. “What. The. Fuck. Are you serious?”

“Bloody serious.”

Amber heard them move away. Their voices dropped low.

Connor: “We ought to bring him in here. Make him watch us do her fingers, yeah?”

Negan: “No. I don’t want to do that.”

Connor: “It’s the best way to break 'im.”

Negan: “I don’t know that it is. Look, the motherfucker obviously can’t care about her that much…if he thinks we’re just playing fucking games?”

Connor: “That’s why we make him watch – he’ll see we’re serious.”

Negan: “This little ambush of theirs… they didn’t expect to get caught, did they? They thought the Walkers would finish our boys off… and I’d be none the wiser. I’d probably just fucking assume they got overwhelmed by a surprise batch of undead, right? But… they got fucking caught, and now the Hilltop is caught in the fucking crossfire…”

Connor: “Yeah…?”

Negan: “They don’t want my wrath coming down on the Hilltop. They want to take the fall. They want to be fucking martyrs. For what… who the fuck knows. Maybe they think it’ll inspire the Hilltop to oppose us… maybe they just have delusions of fucking grandeur and think dying for their shitty little cause is worth it. I don’t fucking know.”

Connor: “Yeah? What’s that got to do with not makin’ him watch?”

Negan: “All right. Picture this shit. We bring him in. We start on her, right…and she starts fucking screaming at him: ’ _Don’t give in! No matter what!’_ You can picture that self-sacrificing bullshit, right? How fucking inspiring it is…” He laughed. “So…maybe it works. Maybe the guy doesn’t fucking give in, just to honor her…she gives him the courage to resist.”

Connor: “Either that, or he breaks anyway…”

Negan: “Of course. But I think it’d be more effective to keep him right where he is. Alone. Scared. In the fucking dark… his resolve crumbling. He doesn’t know what we’re doing to her… he doesn’t know if he’s next, and she’s not there to bolster his fucking backbone.”

Connor: “Ok. Yeah.”

Negan: “You’ve got a point though. He should hear it. Open his fucking door, gag him too. We’ll let him listen as we fuck her up real _gentle-like_.”

A door in bad need of oiling creaked open. Amber heard a man yell briefly in protest, then nothing. Several moments passed.

Connor’s voice returned. “It’s done, boss.”

Negan sighed heavily. She heard the hiss and flume of the blowtorch, on, off, on, off, like Negan was playing with it. Then finally he grunted… “All right… let’s get this shit over with…”

Footsteps. A door opened.

“Hi-ho Crystal-O… miss me?”

“As much as I miss a yeast infection…and don’t say my fucking name.”

“Can’t say I’ve had the displeasure, _Crystal_. But I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news – though you might already know it – your boyfriend is an _asshole_.”

Silence.

“Or maybe he’s just fucking stupid, or a coward, or all of the above… the thing is, he thought the earrings were a bluff. How do your ears feel, anyway? Painful, huh? It’s only going to get worse for you if you don’t give me what I want.”

“You know what I want?” Crystal sneered. “For you to _shut the fuck up_.”

Amber expected either a laugh or a backhand, but Negan was quiet a moment and then, “You’re right. No more small talk. It’s time for business.” His tone was winter-chilled, hollow of compassion. “Hold her down.”

Amber gathered her sleeve, and set her mouth upon it… _Here it comes… I can’t scream, I can’t… oh God… I don’t want to hear this-_

There was a scuffle of feet; Crystal gave an indignant squawk.

“Got her?”

“Yep.”

“Heh… aww…” Negan’s voice went horribly sing-song, cooing, “This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home-”

Loud gasping breaths. Crystal was on the verge of hyperventilating.

“-Oh, fuck it. Who needs pinkies anyway?”

Amber bit into the fabric, screwed her eyes closed.

The breaths turned into a whimpering cry. The cry to a wail. The wail to a scream. Over it, Negan grunted with exertion, snarling, “Motherfucking…goddamn it! Shit!”

Another wail, winding down like a dying ambulance siren. It morphed into ragged sobs.

Negan panted, “Oh fuck… shit… my fucking apologies. I thought it would be one clean snip, but these shears fucking suck.”

“Shit,” Connor said. “We got a spurter!”

“Fuuuuuuck…” An exasperated groan. “No no no no… that was my favorite fucking shirt… seriously?! Get the fuckin’ torch over here… stat!”

_Your favorite white t-shirt… out of the twenty identical ones in your drawer?_ Amber ground her teeth into her sweater sleeve, her chest shaking with a sudden rush of mad giggles. Her brow was slick with sweat. The closet was stifling hot, the air suffocating.

Crystal was still sobbing, weird half-shrieks intermingled. The familiar hot-air -whoosh- of the blowtorch came. “No…” She cried. “No, don’t, _don’t!_ ”

“You don’t want to bleed to death, do you…? Hold fucking still…”

Another tormented scream, turning into agonized moans. A drop of sweat slid down Amber’s temple, a droplet of tear down her cheek. _I won’t ever unhear that. I won’t ever-_

“Your hands don’t match now… that looks kind of fucked-up.” Negan gave a displeased grunt.

Crystal made a weird sound, a hiccuping sort of moan. She cried out weakly, and then her ragged voice rose back into another scream.

“…Gotta make 'em match. This’ll only take a fucking second.” Negan grunted. “Shit, can you tone it down a little? I’m going fuckin’ deaf here!”

The screaming continued. Amber shivered in the closet. She heard the torch again. The moans. Her face was sopping wet. Tears, sweat, mucus flowing from her nose. _Make it stop, make it stop, just kill her or something -_

“Your boyfriend is such a numb-fucking-nuts, who knows if two little piggies will convince his dumb ass.”

“…Fuck you,” Crystal sobbed. “Fuck you, fuck you-”

“Yeah, how’s that feel? Having parts of you taken off slow? Like you did to my fuckin’ men? Karma’s a motherfuckin’ bitch-”

“Then you’re gonna die the slowest of all, you sick fucking freak!” Crystal shrieked through her sobs, her voice so mangled Amber could barely understand her.

“Heh. Complimenting me ain’t gonna save your ass, sweetie. Now where were we? Right. Cheer up, ya bitch. You’ve only got eight more to go.”

“No, no. _NO!_ ” Crystal let out a pained, panicked scream. “No…no… _STOP! Get away…!”_

Negan laughed. “I’m just-”

There was an abrupt quietness. Amber’s pounding heart filled the space. The rush of blood in her ears.

“-fucking with you. Shit.”

“Oy…she alive?”

“Yeah…she just passed out. So much for that high female pain tolerance, eh? Two ought to be enough, anyway.” A smirk in her husband’s voice. Oh, he was horrible, _horrible_ …how was she going to face him later?

_Don’t think too far ahead. I still have to get out of here alive. If he catches me… I’ll be sitting right alongside her sorry ass._

“Watch her.” Negan made a disgusted noise. “Ewwww…” He laughed. “I’ll go bring Ethan his finger food.”

Connor laughed too. Amber had to fight another wave of nutty giggles. _Finger food?… ha ha… oh Hubby, you’re so hilarious…_

Footsteps. A door opened. She heard the elusive voice of Ethan. It was a squirrely sort of whine.

“Hey, there’s my Doubting Thomas. Shit. We haven’t been introduced. I’m Negan…”

Ethan made a gagging noise.

“…and I brought you a little pressie! _Uno, dos_ … Crystal’s most littlest of piggies!”

“What did you do…?”

“Exactly what I said I’d fucking do.” Negan shook his head with his displeased, patronizing pout. “But don’t worry…I took them off real fucking _gentle-like_. I think it still smarted a bit, but maybe she was over-exaggerating. I bet you could hear her screaming all the way in here! What a drama queen!”

Ethan made a pitiful noise, the most pitiful of all, according to Negan… the sound of _man tears_.

“You still want to play games?” No more jovial tone. This-is-business Negan was back. “Or do I have to take more off of her?”

More man tears. “How do I know you didn’t kill her? I don’t hear her.”

“She passed out, the goddamn pussy. You fuckin’ wimps could never make it here. We cut off fingers for mere fucking _theft_ around here. The way I see it, your little bitch got off fuckin’ easy.”

“You’re nothing but monsters. All of you.”

“ _Enough_ of this shit.” Negan was starting to lose his cool; Amber could tell by that weird, flat tone that was creeping into his voice. “Answer me, right fucking now. Are you going to cooperate, or am I going to go back in there, and continue carving up your girlfriend? Your choice. Fingers? I can do them all. Toes? I got _all_ motherfucking day. Tits? This shit turns my damn stomach, thinking of cutting up a fine pair like that – and how would you even go about it? You’d have to get a good grip on it, I guess, maybe use a hacksaw? Something that could really tear into that soft flesh-”

Amber felt her knees go weak. His voice was so fucking hollow. Void of feeling. She’d never heard it like that before, not _that_ flat, that inhuman.

“OK!” Ethan let out a shriek. “OK! Just… just stop! What… what do I have to do…?”

Negan outlined his plan, his voice coming back to life as he did. By the end, it was warm and vibrant again, but nothing could ease the chill in Amber’s bones. “Kill Gregory. I don’t care how you do it. As long as they get the message. This is what happens when you fuck with the Saviors. Couldn’t be simpler. But don’t you dare think you can just go back home and do nothing. We’ll be watching. You don’t kill him, we kill the girl.”

_You’ll kill her anyway, Negan_. Minutes were torturous hours in the dark closet. Amber was hot, faint, sick. _Don’t lie._

She wanted out, wanted the cool sheets of her bed…but the Penthouse was no longer a safe haven. Negan would be back home eventually, and she’d have to face him… she’d have to preform the best acting of her life.

No matter what he looked like, how much he cleaned up, she’d see him covered in blood, she’d know of the fragments of Crystal’s DNA under his fingernails, etched into the whorls of his palm. She could place her ear to his, like a seashell, and hear the roar of screams echoing back to her.

_Maybe I should just grab Mark and run. Just run from here._

But she knew she couldn’t – they had barely survived the first time in the outside world. They could try to flee to one of the settlements…but…

_It’s a choice. It’s an idea…if I have to… if it’s too dangerous to stay… I will. I’ll go._

For now, she waited. Placing her sweaty forehead to the door and closing her eyes.

Ethan was freed, escorted away by Connor. Amber didn’t hear Crystal. But she was a dead girl, either way.

Negan apologized again to Mark: ‘ _sorry you had to hear that, don’t worry about the girl, I’ll get Wells down to look at her’_ – And he left too.

She tumbled out weakly when Mark opened the door and wrapped his arms around her.

“It’s ok,” he said, to her sudden overflow of tears. “It’s ok, it’s ok.”

Mark was a liar too.

_Nothing is ok. Nothing will ever be ok._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was also my take on why Negan’s arm is bandaged in Issue #100. Unlike the TV version, Comic Negan only wears that bandage in his debut issue. So either it’s for looks or to protect his wrist from injury… or he actually had an injury. So my take is that Crystal sliced the fuck out of him. Bad girl.


	17. Just Another Dead Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, while chronologically this snippet is later in the story, I wrote it pretty early on, so it's in need of a rewrite to better flow and be consistent in the final product (whenever I ever finish it. If ever.)  
> Anyhoo, this chapter takes place a few days after the last one.

“Shit…” Sherry turned away from the window. “Jazzi’s down by the Walkers again. Amber, can you go get her?”

“Um, yeah. Sure.” Amber retrieved her fuzzy coat from the bedroom and threw it on over the black bra. Slipping on flats, she made her way down the numerous stairways and through dim passageways, snaked with pipes and long-dead florescent lights.

“Hey baby,” came a brash male voice. She turned to see a pock-faced guy, with long brown hair tucked under a filthy woolen cap. “Nice legs.”

She made a face and kept walking.

“Hey. Can’t you say ‘hello’? Don’t be rude, doll-face.”

She cried out when his hand latched onto her arm, stopping her in her tracks. He pushed her against the wet concrete wall, his lanky body leaning over menacingly.

“Get your hands off me.” She frowned and wrenched her arm away. Her attempted sidestep was thwarted when he set both arms onto the wall on either side of her head. Caged, she glared at him. “Get away from me.”

“I don’t think so. How many points would'ya take for me to see those fine legs spreadin’ for me?”

“Keep your points,” she said coldly. “I’m not for fucking sale, and if you want to keep breathing, I would back off right now.”

“Ladies shouldn’t swear,” he said, with a leer, and smacked her across the face.

She cringed, but shot her furious gaze back at him, readying her trump card. “I get it from my husband,” she said, lip curling. “Maybe you know him…?”

His hand was trying to find the zipper in the fuzziness of her coat, his other pushing up under her mini-skirt. “I don’t give a shit who-”

You might know him,“ she continued, "His name is _Negan_.”

He stopped, eyes shooting momentarily wide. “No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way, and he will cut your balls off and make you eat them, you sorry bastard,” she hissed. “But that doesn’t have to happen, you piece of crap – if you back off. NOW.”

“You skanky bitch. How do I know you’re not just sayin’ that?”

“You don’t.” She smiled. “But I guess you’d find out soon enough, wouldn’t you? When you’re enjoying the taste of your own scrotum…”

He punched the wall next to her head, glaring death at her, and then stepped back. She straightened her clothing, shot him the finger, and continued on her way. Through a rush of adrenaline and tremors, a smile cut across her face.

That had felt good.

_Really fucking good._

She understood the seething glares of Savior women, the jealous twitches of lips – they knew she had power on her side, a guardian demon spreading his black wings over her head.

 _But_ She told all the women in her head.

_There’s a price for power -_

_And Demons only take souls for payment._

_–  
_

Outside Sanctuary, Amber was glad for her flats. The ground was littered with concrete debris, twisted scraps of metal, spent bullet casings. She shrank into her coat, cautiously moving past piked Walkers. If they had arms, they reached out for her, their blackened teeth clicking like castanets. Their ever-present groans increased in tempo as they saw her, frenzied moans and cries.

Carefully, she made her way past a burnt-out car. There was a tattered length of fencing, laying flat on the ground – no longer fit to be a barrier. Jazzi stood on the other side, her dark blue eyes fixed on a Walker. The hapless creature was only a torso, strung up between two poles, like a crucifixion gone wrong. A spine curved out like a hook.

“Jazzi!” She called, and brooking no response, “Jasmine! What are you doing out here?”

“I like the look of this one,” Jazzi said, tilting her head. “How do you think it moves without a working spinal cord.”

The Walker was wiggling, weird twitches of one arm, then the other. Amber supposed after long enough, it would eventually work its arms free of the sockets. She didn’t want to be here when that happened.

“I don’t know,” she said. “That’s the question, isn’t it? How do they move at all – when they’re _dead_?”

“I wonder if I could bring one upstairs. Then I wouldn’t have to come down here. Sherry wouldn’t have to get mad.”

“Um…heh. I think Sherry would be even madder if you brought home a pet Walker…”

“Yes. I think you’re right. They do smell rather bad.”

“Come on…let’s go back up, ok?”

Jazzi didn’t move, continuing to stare at the writhing corpse. Amber’s flats crunched over the fallen fence, and she slipped her hand into the girl’s bony grasp.

Jazzi turned just her head. Her lips spread with a slight quirk to the corners; her version of a friendly smile. “There’s a new one out here. That’s why I came out. To see her. I saw her from up there with the binoculars.”

Amber looked around uneasily at the snarling, rotting faces. “How do you know it’s new?”

“You can tell. And I can tell even better. I know all their faces. I don’t know her.”

Amber shuddered… the thought of memorizing these faces, these husks of human… cataloging them… keeping the imagery and sound of them inside her brain…

“You need a new hobby,” she said.

Jasmine shrugged.

“All right… fine. We can go look at 'her’. But then we’re getting out of here, ok? These things give me the creeps.”

“Don’t be scared.” Jazzi pulled her hand free and walked away, moving much too fast for Amber’s liking through the rubble and Walker littered landscape. The girl’s skinny white limbs flashed through the greyness, passing frighteningly close to the chained and staked Walkers. Amber watched fingers brush Jasmine’s arms and ankles on occasion, but the girl didn’t seem to notice or care; she merely kept walking.

“Yeah. Don’t be scared,” Amber muttered. “Right.” She followed at a much slower pace, edging past the grabby hands. As they approached the perimeter fence of Sanctuary, Jazzi squealed and pointed towards a staked group of Walkers.

“I see her. She’s up there.”

“Hey!” Amber screeched, as the girl broke into a run. “Don’t run, it’s too dangerous!” She ignored her own advice, bolting past an overturned car. Suddenly, she felt the dreaded hand of a Walker closing around her ankle. The hidden dead snarled and growled from inside the busted-out car window, beginning to drag itself out. Amber fell to the ground, screaming.

“NO! Get off!” She kicked frantically at the Walker’s wrist, hearing it crack – but the hand didn’t release. Now the head was in sight, the blackened teeth snapping. Her hand clawed for anything – it found only dirt and small pebbles. She threw a handful in the Walker’s face but it did nothing. “Help!” she screamed, “Help me-”

There was motion in her peripherals. Jasmine was running to her, blond curls snapping back in a cascade. She leapt over Amber, a piece of rebar held in her hand spear-like. There was a horrible crunch as she thrust it downwards. Brains splattered Amber’s bare leg. The hand loosened and she kicked free.

Jazzi looked down at the dead Walker. “That one is no good anymore.” She kicked it lightly, not assisting as Amber clambered shakily to her feet.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Jazzi was breathing heavier, her cheeks flushed, but her face perpetually stuck in neutral. She tossed her head to evict the wayward curls.

Amber put a hand to her chest, feeling the palpitations of her frantic heart. “Shit. Let’s go back. It’s too dangerous out here.” The mess on her leg felt gross, filthy, but she didn’t want to touch it.

“But we’re almost there.”

“Ugh… fine…” Amber scowled. “I don’t know why you care so much about this 'new’ corpse, it’s the same as all these others. A dead, nasty body that wants to eat us. They’re not interesting, they’re just scary and gross.”

Jasmine’s expression didn’t change. She bent down to yank the rebar from the fallen Walker’s head. Blood and congealed brains dripped from the tip. “I won’t run. I’ll protect you. Then we can go back.”

Amber didn’t answer; she followed the girl’s lead with her senses on high alert. There were no more close encounters. Amber tried to figure out which Walker was new as Jasmine scouted the fence. The skinny blond came to a sudden halt.

“Here.” Jazzi tilted her head. Amber came alongside her, ready to criticize again… but her words died in her throat.

It was easy to tell the Walker apart from her peers. She was freshly dead. Her pallor was certainly that of the dead, grey and blood-drained, but there was an elasticity to her flesh… her skin hadn’t withered on her bones, her hair still shone, flowing like a black waterfall over her shoulders. She growled and strained towards the girls; held to the fence by a thick collar and chain.

“She’s very fresh. She must have only died a few days ago,” Jasmine mused. Her hand reached out, and Amber shuddered as the Walker reached too; and the fingertips of dead and living brushed… and then Amber hastily grabbed Jazzi’s wrist, forcing her hand back to her side.

“She still feels warm…”

“You’re just imagining that…it’s just the sun warming them up.” Her teeth gnawed the succulent flesh of her lip. There was something about the dead woman. Amber’s stomach churned, her mind whispered… saying go, don’t look, and always, always, her rebellious eyes refused to listen.

The reaching hand. Still stretched out, the fingers flexing. The fingernails smooth and polished, not the cracked and blackened keratin of the long dead. Amber’s stomach heaved upwards suddenly, the muscles of her esophagus contracted.

Jazzi stepped back as Amber pivoted sideways and emptied the contents of her gut onto the ground. She coughed and moaned, spitting the acidic bile from her mouth.

Four fingers. Four fingers on the hand, pinkie missing…

She clutched her hand to her mouth, flitting her eyes to the Walker; who seemed agitated by her sudden movements, straining hard against her chain. Her ears were full of piercings, the lobes tattered and torn.

“Crystal,” she croaked. “Her name is Crystal.”

“Oh.” Jasmine did her straight-lipped, corners-quirked smile. “You name them too. Crystal is a nice name. I haven’t used that one yet.” She glanced down at the puddle of vomit. “Do you have food poisoning.”

“No, not food poisoning. Just don’t feel good. Might be the smell of these things.” She spat a few times. The sour-bitter taste lingered on her tongue.

“Are you pregnant…did you miss the pill again. Negan will be angry.”

Amber turned away from Crystal, her puke, all of it, eyebrows slanted fiercely over her gaze. She was sick of being afraid, so she dredged up anger instead, basked in it. “No,” she snapped, “I’m not pregnant! And _fuck_ Negan.”

Jazzi fell into step alongside her, casting a wistful look back at Crystal – she hadn’t gotten her fill of the newest deader. “We’re supposed to fuck him.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Alarmingly, Amber found herself imitating Hubby’s frequent sign of irritation – her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose.

For a few moments, there was only the sound of their crunching footsteps and the hungry sounds of the dead. As they neared the door to Sanctuary, Jazzi stopped to look at the crucifixion Walker again, like she was paying homage to her decaying gods.

Amber grabbed her wrist and tugged, and Jasmine begrudgingly followed along, but not before stunning Amber with one of her eccentric questions. “What do you think it’s like to have sex with one.”

“Oh God!” Amber made a face, her eyebrows raising high. “Not very good at all! Why – are you thinking about it?” She found herself dreading the response.

“No. I imagine they would try to eat me. But I overheard Negan and Sherry the other night. He said it felt like he was 'fucking a Walker.’”

Oh dear. Amber’s face contorted again. “I guess it’s because Sherry wasn’t…uh… moving much? She was probably tired.” _Sick and tired of him…_

“I don’t fuck like a Walker.” One of those sudden, malicious smiles was spreading across the skinny girl’s face. “I like to move. But I bite like one.”

 _Well, that explains the scratches and bites on him._ She’d always wondered what wife had the feral fingernails and teeth. She snorted and banged on the front door. The old man, Orson, pulled it open and let them in without a word. Amber pulled Jasmine towards the main metal staircase; normally she’d take the back way…it was more private, but she felt audacious. Like she wanted to fight.

“I don’t know if Negan likes it,” Jazzi mused, ignoring the stares and glares of the Saviors they passed. “He usually yells and swears when I do it.”

“Um…it probably hurts…” Amber couldn’t help but grin. _Hope she bites him harder next time…_

“Why don’t you get back up to your Penthouse, you little Playboy bitches,” a woman hissed in their wake. “Hurry on home to your Pimp.”

Amber stopped, eyes narrowed. “You only wish you were pretty enough to get in, you ugly cunt.” The woman’s eyes went wide. She turned away hurriedly, like she was afraid Amber would memorize her face, report her.

Jazzi looked after the woman impassively, her lips quirked at the corners. “That was mean.”

“She started it.” Amber was starting to sweat inside the fuzzy coat, and Jazzi’s close body heat didn’t help. She stepped onto the staircase. Now began the tedious journey of ascending.

On level eight, Jasmine wanted to walk onto the catwalk that spanned across the open space of Sanctuary, looking down onto the factory floor far below. She leaned against the railing, one of her legs leaving the ground. Amber hurried onto the metal walkway, fighting vertigo.

“Get down from there… God, you’re like a little kid. Sherry will kill me if you go 'splat’.”

Jazzi sighed and put both feet flat on the ground. “You are no fun. I’m not going to fall. I’m not going to get bitten.”

“Come on, let’s just get back home…” Amber snatched up the girl’s bony hand and tugged. At first, Jazzi resisted, but then she fell into step and they continued to the back hallways where the last three flights of stairs led home.

As Amber set her foot on the first step, she noticed a man walking down the hallway. All alone, heading away from them, but she knew… she recognized Mark.

Her eyes shifted to Jazzi and then back to him. She opened her mouth, yelled the first name that came to mind. “Ben! Hey, Ben!”

Mark turned at the sound, eyebrows high in confusion. Amber dragged Jazzi along as she hurried towards him, a fake story tumbling from her mouth. “Oh wow, _Ben_. Tanya’s boyfriend, right? Gosh, I haven’t seen her in forever. How are you guys doing?”

Mark stared at her, then Jazzi, and blinked. He smiled, nodded. “Uh… yeah. Yeah..that’s right. I’m still with uh… Tanya. She’s doing great. We’re both doing fine.” He scuffed his boot on the floor. “Making pretty good points…”

Jazzi was scrutinizing Mark, prussian blues narrowed, the curious gaze of a cat looking at a wounded bird. He gave her a polite, nervous smile.

Amber pulled her forward. “Jazzi, this is Ben. He’s the boyfriend of a girl I was friends with.”

She tilted her head.

“Nice to meet you,” Mark’s smile was becoming apprehensive.

“It’s all right to meet you, I suppose. Ben.” Jasmine shrugged.

Amber sighed and nudged her. “Why don’t you go on ahead? I just want to catch up for a minute.”

“All right.”

“Go straight up, ok?”

“Yes, mother.”

Mark stifled a laugh and they made fake small talk until her footsteps faded away.

“She’s kind of odd.”

“Tell me about it.” Amber scoped out the hallway; they were alone. And then she lunged forward, her arms wrapping him.

“Whoa,” he said, and returned the embrace momentarily, before gently shaking her off. “We shouldn’t. Anyone could see.”

“Sorry…” She clasped her arms around her torso instead, fearful of her desire. She wanted to hug him again. Kiss his mouth, his neck, his chest. She wanted to unzip his pants. The anger she’d dredged was sinking, fear floating to the top like an oil slick. He was right. This was dangerous.

“How have you been?” Despite his warning, he gently touched her, just a lingering brush of fingers on her arm. “I’ve been worried about you. After the other day…”

“I’m ok…”

His concerned eyes. The fading warmth of the hug. A dead girl, chained to a fence with a collar. Fingers missing. Who needs pinkies anyway…? Her gut clenched, the stifling air of the closet was in her lungs again, the darkness in her eyes.

_I’m not ok. I’m so not ok._


	18. It's the Iron For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burn Baby BURN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a bit of story in between Amber meeting Mark on the stairs in the last chapter, and Mark feelin’ the burn for it. One of these days maybe I'll finish this thing. But anyhoo, we all know Mark and Amber got caught ‘wrong-doing’ in comic canon…so here we go! This short snippet contains angst and torture. It begins with Sherry bringing Amber down to witness Mark's 'Ironing'.

Amber cried when they got outside the Penthouse. Sherry ducked back in to retrieve a few tissues, which she shoved into Amber’s hand.

“I’m sorry.”

Amber nodded and wiped her face, then shoved the wad into her pocket. “Y-yeah.”

Sherry slung her arm around the trembling blonde, and down they went. Amber didn’t make it easy to descend. She wobbled like a child learning to walk. Sherry was afraid they would go toppling down the stairs.

Two landings down. “Walk, Amber. You have to. You made your choice.”

“Choice?” Amber gave an odd hybrid of a laugh and sob. “I didn’t get to tell my side…he didn’t give me a chance! This isn’t fair!”

“There’s nothing to your side, Amber. You knew the risks.” She tugged the girl along, her face suddenly carved in stone. “It’ll be over fast. Mark… will be ok. You’ll be ok. This… isn’t the end of the world. It could be worse.”

Amber whimpered, but she began to walk again. Not looking at Sherry anymore, not talking.

_And now…she realizes… I’m as big of a monster as he is._

——–

Amber was lost in a fog. Smoke, maybe. Filling her lungs, making them heavy as lead. Her capillaries shriveling from lack of air. Her heart going to sleep. Sluggish.

_Slug, I’m a slug._

She was everything gross and rotten. Everything slimy and slithering.

Sherry had shame in her gaze. She’d been in this position before. Amber hadn’t dwelled on it before. How Sherry must’ve felt throwing her man into the fire. Burning him down as a witch.

She felt like she was marching to her own execution pyre.

_No…I’m not going to die._

“Mark… will be ok…” Sherry said.

_Mark isn’t going to die._

Maybe not physically. She wondered how seared his soul would be. As her betrayal maimed him for life. Pouring acid on the Polaroids of their memories…she floated back to a childhood of hide-n-seek, to consoling him about bullies, to the teenage fumblings in his bedroom when his parents were out.

_I’m just doing this because I love you…_

Her knees turned inwards on the next landing. Her legs folded like a newborn fawn’s. She slid from Sherry’s surprised arm, the floor cold along her bare calves. She shivered, as a horrible wail clawed her throat.

“I can’t…I CAN’T DO THIS!”

Sherry tried to haul her upwards. Her ankles refused to cooperate. She didn’t try to assist. The floor was were she belonged; to be trampled into the dirt, to become one with what she was. Filth. Decay.

“Get up, Amber!” Sherry shook her arm. “You have to do it. There isn’t any going back now!” The first wife was starting to become angry with her. Amber guessed she couldn’t blame her. “He’s not going to change his mind in front of the fucking crowd. GET UP.”

_No…no he wouldn’t..Negan would never want to disappoint his audience. No matter what. No matter who gets hurt._

So she forced strength into her legs, just enough to get her to the bottom. Where she knew…she’d just fall apart all over again.

————-

They had been waiting a while. Amber had no sense of time. Maybe it had been five minutes? Maybe it had been five years. Carson had gone upstairs and come back again. The stage was set. All that was required now was the ring master.

The furnace roared. An orange hole in the room, the interior of a dragon’s mouth. The room was hell-hot. She sweltered inside the fuzzy jacket, sweat running freely down her temples.

She deserved it. Every bit of heat, every suffocating breath. Brimstone. Fire. She kept her coat on.

Mark was already there. His blond head was bowed, his body slouched in the chair. His hands were tied behind his back, and though he was not bound to the chair, he did not run. It wasn’t an option.

A Savior manned the metal pole thrust deep into the furnace. The Iron was upon it, glowing red, somewhere in the fiery depths. Carson stood alongside like statue. Legs together, one hand holding a blacksmith’s glove.

The surrounding congregation had their eyes set on the wives. Accusing looks, examining each face, trying to suss out the sinner. Old Molly seemed to know. When she caught Amber’s eye, she gave a sad smile. Amber quickly averted her gaze to stare at Carson.

He gave her a similar sympathetic look. She couldn’t take that. He didn’t have a right to give her pity – not when he could’ve kept his mouth shut. _You rat bastard,_ She thought, seeking to slay him with her gaze, but he just kept up the same expression. _Fuck you._

“That’s the dirty cheat, right there.” She heard the voice of Maureen. Dennis’s crude laugh. The two siblings were at the far edge of the crowd. Dennis waved her way with his bandaged, disfigured hand. More fucking bastards.

“You shut your filthy mouth, boy,” Molly chastised.

The crowd suddenly shuffled, their chatter hushing. In the quiet, she heard her heart. The organ, though bruised and torn, still pumped blood unrelentingly. In her peripheral view, she saw people getting on one knee. Oh, so the Fucking Bastard of all fucking bastards had finally arrived, then.

Negan was poised above, looking down at his reverent gathering. Swathed in his dark leather, features cloaked in shadow. Curved like Death’s scythe, his grin cut through the gloom.

He paused a few steps from the bottom, just to keep himself in sight of the crowd. All eyes on him. He began to speak, and she didn’t understand it…it was just sounds and grandiose gesturing. Some sounds formed into words, but she still couldn’t grasp the concepts. Honor. _The Rules keep us alive._ The crowd echoed him; even Sherry parroted the words beside her. _Salvation._ They were the Saviors in this ruined world.

_I don’t believe that anymore._

The place in her heart that might’ve believed that… that there was still hope in the world, that they could make it better… it was dead. New things bloomed in its place. A garden of poison and twisted thorns. Negan’s eyes swept the crowd, catching hers. He gave her a slight, disapproving shake of the head.

_Naughty girl. Bad little promise-breaker._ His jaw tightened in disappointment.

_I didn’t really hurt you. I can’t break a heart that doesn’t exist._

She knew he wasn’t hurt. His smile upstairs had already dismissed her crimes. His twinkling eyes had invalidated days and hours of her agony.

But here in front of the crowd…he feigned dismay. His eyes saying he’d been hurt, grievously…his eyes saying she was the cause of it all. He came into her garden with his own poison, and his boots trampled all her resistance into the ground.

_He’s right. The only one who hurt Mark is me. It’s my fault._

And then her stomach dropped out. As Negan turned to Carson. As he uttered the words that froze the crowd, breaths held in painful anticipation.

“It’s the Iron for you.”

Negan received the glove from Carson, the Iron nestled into its heat-resistant grip. Heat thrown off, so intense the air around his face rippled like water. Already the sweat popped on his brow, as he solemnly stood before the condemned man. Another Savior came up behind, hands settling onto the slight man’s shoulders. Mark flinched, round eyes imploring Negan – saying silently ‘No’, saying 'Please.’

But his leader was not swayed. “Sorry, Mark. It is what it is.” Negan lunged forward. One hand cuffing Mark’s ear like a thunderclap, the other pressing the Iron to chin and cheek and temple and he gritted those perfect, immaculate teeth as the steam began to rise.

She should look.

_Look at what you did!_

_I can’t…no…I can’t…no please…_

The sizzle of meat on the grill. The smell. Burnt hair, cooked skin. A scream from the reaches of Hell, keening, sharp as razor wire. Cutting her ears to ribbons.

_I need to look. I did this._

So she did, just for the splitest-of-seconds…time did not matter. Like her own personal Iron, her optic nerves burned the image into her brain. Forever. His hands fighting behind his back, bonds going bloody. Foot raised, trying to rise up, buck away – held down by the Savior and Negan’s merciless grip. Candle, his flesh a candle, melting. She slammed her vision shut on it, but it was too late, too late. It was real, she had done this.

She shrieked along with him, knees caving. Her grip on Sherry nearly pulling them both down. The other woman shuddered, softly crying under her breath. Her own past replaying behind her eyes.

And he was still screaming -

_Stop! This is too cruel – this is sick!_

The siren wail cut off. The sound of the congregation filled the space, solemn gasps, whispers. Some gagged on the stench of burnt flesh.

_Dead…is he..?_

His head was slumped forward onto his chest. Negan gave a nonchalant grin, whispered something to the limp form, patted him on the shoulder. The chest still rose and fell; a sick sort of relief passed over her. More sick than relief. Her stomach roiled. She was glad she hadn’t been eating.

“I hope we have all learned something here.” Negan’s voice was as open and breezy as a cloudless sky. Maybe he was discussing the weather. “Because I really don’t want to have to do that fucking shit again.”

Feet shuffled all around her. The people of Sanctuary returning to the drudgery of their lives. She heard a light smattering of applause from the direction of Dennis and Maureen, but nobody stayed around to indulge their sick enjoyment. Amber could barely focus on them, anyway. Mark was pulled from the chair, hanging limply upon the supporting arms of two Saviors. Steam rose from the side of his ruined face.

“I’m sorry…” Nothing she said could make up for this.

_I didn’t have a choice._

The weak denial of the guilty. It rang hollow inside her chest.

She reached her hand out, but Dwight interceded, harshly reprimanding her. Don’t make the damage worse, he said, in so many words.

So, she dropped her arm and let him go. Leaning on Sherry as the first wife led her up the stairways, back to the lair of their personal demon.

_The place I chose to be._


	19. Sweet Nothings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place not too long after Mark’s Ironing. It correlates with Issue #108 where Negan plays ping-pong then drags Sherry away as he teases Dwight about 'ping-ponging his dick on her titties'. Hey, his words, not mine. LOL

“Let the slaughter begin!” Negan pumped his fist enthusiastically. Thomas stood at the other end of the ping-pong table, awaiting the serve. It came at him with ferocity and he just managed to crack it back towards his leader.

Sherry stood, arms over her chest, just another member of the blasé crowd. They watched the game with various levels of interest; but nobody was particularly involved in the match. Negan, as always, was dominating. He moved alarmingly quick for his size, so light and agile on his feet that Sherry fancied he must’ve been a running back or star basketball player in high school – not that he would tell her. Then again, maybe he considered himself too intelligent for that ‘dumb jock shit’. It was hard to tell with him.

Thomas moved just a tad too slow, the little ball flying far across the foundry, somewhere in the vicinity of the big furnace where the Iron hung menacingly on its hook.

They had a whole basketful of balls though, so nobody had to retrieve them during the match. It gave the kids something to do later.

Thomas missed again; there went another ball off into obscurity. Sherry was starting to wonder if he was missing them on purpose. It was unusual for Negan to lose this game…but whether it was due to his skills or people deliberately letting him win… she would never know.

_And I don’t really give a shit, either._

Her senses were elsewhere. Her eyes straight ahead, watching Hubby finally miss a pass, his brow furrowed in a frown, but his teeth all gleaming. She saw him, while fancying she smelled the nicotine and motor oil of the man who used to be hers. She could certainly hear him, his smoker’s combination of cough and throat-clearing coming at sporadic moments, she could hear him talking quietly to a man near him. Dwight was a mere fifteen feet from her; it might as well be fifteen miles for all the closer they could ever get, their skin now polar-opposites, two magnets that forever repelled the other.

She turned to look at Amber, her peripherals catching Dwight. His opened vest, lean chest, all scruffed with hair and odd, cute little band-aids stuck on various scrapes and grazes, the tempting trail of happiness leading down to…

She didn’t linger longer, focusing on the young blond. The poor thing was looking wan and tired. Amber had been sleeping fitfully, at least the times she’d been in the communal bedroom. She’d been with Negan last night and this morning, her tiny hesitant cries ringing through his bedroom door.

_I can tell she doesn’t want him touching her…it’s too soon…Lord knows I fucking know…_

Negan let out an ecstatic whoop. Thomas groaned.

_But the bastard doesn’t care. He’d only stop if she told him to…and she won’t… I know she won’t._

Her mind went back in time. After Dwight’s burning. After her choice. Negan, fucking nonchalant. Negan, sliding her skirt up. Floors below their lux Penthouse, Dwight was laying in the infirmary. His face nothing but melted candle-wax flesh, boils, pus. He probably drifted in and out of painful consciousness…but her position as Negan’s wife ensured he’d be partially doped up, at least. And as Dwight lay there suffering, Negan had his fingers inside her, seeing if she was sopping for him, like seeing Dwight’s face a twin to Freddy Krueger’s was supposed to be a turn-on. And she heard her own weak mew, utterly unable to stand it…and he was trying to interlock their parts and she finally, finally said, “No.” Screamed “Stop.”

But…she was the type who could say no.

Amber wasn’t.

She turned her head back, then looked right. Dwight was looking left. He didn’t smile at her, his eyes stayed dark, face slack in its usual expression of stoicism. Her gaze was pleading, her heart both swelling and shrinking. Bloodclots of love, clogging her arteries. Stifling shame closing her airways. Her eyes would forever supplicate to him – begging for forgiveness that would never, ever come.

“Fuck yes, motherfuckers!”

A black-gloved fist raised in triumph. Basking in his glorious win, Negan challenged the onlookers to another game, but no one came forth. Well, that was twenty good minutes gone from her day, and she hadn’t a clue how to fill the rest.

_I hate days like this, I hate being in my own head…_

_I hate seeing…_

“Dwight. You wanna jump in, show me what you got?”

She heard Dwight refuse. She didn’t look at him, stubbornly keeping her eyes on the abandoned ping-pong table. His wide-open eye would be watering; he wept endlessly because of her. She’d been hardly able to look at him in the weeks after…

But then, she’d forced her eyes to gaze at the horrific mutilation. They weren’t just _his_ scars, they were hers. She was the maker – she’d better be able to look her creation in the face.

Suddenly, leather was around her wrist; Negan had her in his covetous grip, practically pulling her off her feet. She stumbled alongside him, and he was stopping her in front of Dwight – she was stuck between the two males like a dog’s toy, being pulled in both directions, soon to rip apart. Negan threw some perverse, horrible quip; she hardly heard – it was sexual at any rate, and then she was being pulled away. She didn’t protest…her eyes on Dwight the whole way.

His eyes…not dark now. Two solar flares. He glared daggers of pure hate into his leader’s back.

_He’s gonna kill you one day…_

Sherry did not know whom she meant. Dwight might try to kill Negan and even succeed, but he’d never live to savor it – and she knew Negan would eventually end Dwight once he tired of his cat-and-mouse torment. Once he knew his prey might try to bite back.

——

“Where are we going?” she grumbled. After heading up a few flights of stairs, Negan had diverted their path to stroll through one of the dim hallways. Nobody was around. Her heels clacked loudly on the floor, angry echoes bouncing around them.

“I was fuckin’ bored, and I could tell you were _really_ bored,” he said, smiling. “I thought I’d spice up your day a little.”

“No, you thought you’d mess with Dwight’s head,” she growled. “Why do you have to do that – to rub his face in it?”

“Because I can.” The grin was making his eyes squint cheerily. “Because it’s fucking hilarious to watch his face.”

“You need to stop it.” She stopped, crossing her arms over her chest. “You already _have_ me. Why keep tormenting him?”

He stared over at a storage room door to their right, and Sherry grit her teeth; fuming. It was like nothing she said got through that thick fucking skull.

“Are you listening to me? I want you to stop it. I’m serious, Neg- hey!” She yelped. He suddenly had her arm again and was ushering her through the door. It was cluttered with cleaning supplies and junk. The door thudded shut. She smelled bleach, heard him smiling in the pitch black.

“What the hell are you doing?” She demanded, trying for the door, but his bulk was effectively blocking her. She stepped back, stumbling over something – a mop head by the musty, woolly feel of it.

“A man stupid enough to lose a fine minx like you? He shouldn’t ever live that fucking shit down.”

“Wow, that’s romantic, Negan,” she sneered. “Now can you move your big ass? I’m getting claustrophobic.”

“Yeah…?” He was a lot closer to her now; she could hear his breathing getting heavier. 

“I can’t see shit! C'mon, open the door.”

“Who needs to see?”

She jumped as his hands somehow found her thighs in the dark, sliding up under her skirt. Molding to the curve of flesh between her legs, a teasing stroke along the cloth of her panties. She reached down, shoving at his arms. “Knock it off.”

He decided to tackle her breasts instead, hands creeping her sides and grasping two handfuls of the soft, luscious flesh. She stood stoically, letting him fondle her for a moment, then shoved him away again. “Ok. You got your boobie fix. Let’s get out of here.”

She heard leather crinkling, his breathing somewhere closer to the floor. She reached out, feeling the top of his head; he was kneeling in front of her. He knocked something over and it rolled away with the sloshy sound of liquid inside a bottle. “Fuck.” She felt his hands up her skirt again. “Don’t be mad, Sherry…I hate it when you’re angry at me…” He pushed her mini up around her waist.

“Then you should stop being such an asshole…Ohh.” Her last words trembled past her lips. Her panties pushed to one side, a warm tongue and lips going to work on her most sensitive areas – oh, her knees went weak. She clutched the top of his head, wanting to push him away. _Fuck_. Her body was already shivering. Anticipation for the pleasure he could bring it. _Dammit. Dammit._

A moan broke from her. She pressed her arm to her mouth to muffle the sounds. Anyone walking by would hear them. She stepped back. Her rear hit what felt like a shelf, and another bottle of something liquid thunked to the floor.

“Where you going?” He muttered, and shuffled forward on his knees. “Fuck, woman, you’re making me fucking crawl now? Shit…”

“I’m not making you do…Uhh…” She leaned back into the rickety shelf, hoping the whole thing wouldn’t crash to the ground. “…anything. Ohh.”

“Ok. Fuck this. I’m gonna get a kink in my neck.” He stood up, hands sliding to her waist. He lifted her onto the shelf; she held her breath, hearing it creak ominously.

“This is a bad idea, Negan,” she protested, but he was burying his face between her thighs again. She further tested the shelf’s stability by writhing under him, her breath caught in her lungs. “Unh…” A breathy grunt…her hands settled onto the sleekness of his hair and kneaded there.

“Mmmm…” His tongue flickered over her clit and his hand slid up under her shirt. The roughness of his fingers on her soft flesh…he’d removed his gloves at some point. “You’re getting so wet, Sher-Bear. Fuck, that is so hot…”

The smugness in his tone… irritation sparked her, even more intense than the arousal. She scowled and shoved her knee against him. The shelf creaked. “Ok. Enough. Let’s get out of here.”

He laughed. Two fingers entered her, pressing upwards. Her body betrayed her, grinding down against them, and she panted, her face flushing. “Come on, just fucking relax, ok?”

She growled, but his thrusting fingers felt so good, and…

_It’s not like I have anything better to do… and…_

It was one way to get out of her head for a while. Settle into the fog of pleasure and lust, not think.

So she leaned her head back, restlessly stroking his head and neck, as his tongue caressed her. A slow burn of pleasure. He took his time, kissing along her thighs, keeping his fingers softly thrusting inside her. Sucking and nibbling on her delicate lips. All teases, all cake and no icing. Too slow. She needed more! Her nerves were sparking…desperate for his touch on her clit. She tried to direct his head by tugging at his hair; tried to press herself into his mouth, but he wasn’t getting the hint.

_Dammit, Negan. You know better than this._

She wiggled on the shelf, cringing at the godawful creaking. Not wanting to beg, hating him for making her want to. Her eyes were starting to adjust to the dark. She looked down, and she could just see the shine of his smiling teeth. He did know better. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“What, Sherry?” He rested his cheek on her thigh, breathing hard. “Something you want?”

“Yeah, I want you to get this over with.” She growled. “Because I’m getting bored.” She gave his hair a hard yank.

He winced and then gave her that damn, insufferably charming grin. “God, woman… this is what I’m fucking talking about. You are just…”

“Negan. I’m not kidding. My ass is sore, and I’m getting so over this right now-”

“Ok, ok!” He took a deep, exaggerated breath and dived back into the space between her legs. She smirked and settled her hands onto his head again.

His tongue teasingly licked the delicate insides of her thighs, his two slick fingers pushing into her again. He pressed them upwards inside her, moving them in just the way she liked… he knew her spots…he knew every goddamn button on her. She was like a child’s toy. Press the button, hear the noise.

He pressed and she sucked in a breath. He pressed and she moaned.

“Negan…” She dug her fingers into his scalp. His tongue was still evading her clitoris, and she was aching so bad, she was going crazy. Her hips bucking, hoping to catch just one of those wet strokes on the place she needed it the most. He put one hand on her hip and held her down, a chuckle vibrating through her flesh. She couldn’t say it, couldn’t say it!

She could feel the scorch of his breath, hot air on hot skin.

She said it: “Negan…please…please!”

His thumb pressed to her clit and rubbed, soft and light. She gasped. And then his mouth moved there and his tongue lavished her, and she cried out. His fingers moved hard inside her, his mouth merciless on her clit. And just as she nearly tipped, he backed off. She couldn’t catch a full breath before the attack began again.

“Ohh…N-N-Negan…!” She was parroting his name like a mindless animal, enslaved to his touch. She grabbed his head with with one hand, desperately biting down onto her leather sleeve in an attempt to silence herself. Bracing one foot on his shoulder. The shelf was creaking louder than a bad mattress. There was no disguising that something naughty was going on behind the closet door. Nobody would be fooled!

“Yeah…"he whispered, pausing to gasp for breath. "Come on, Sherry…fucking cum for me, baby…”

His voice shattered some of the stars in her eyes. Damn it. What the fuck was she doing…?

The hand and mouth were relentless. Another thick finger pushing into her. She rocked into them. Gripping his hair in a death grip, pressing his mouth harder against her. Groaning onto the spit-slick leather she bit upon. Dark vision turning to white. Her eyes squeezed closed. Those fingers fucking her so hard now, digging up inside her, ripping the pleasure out of her. A long desperate whimper. If he stopped now, she was going to fucking kill him.

“Nnnnnn!” Flashes behind her closed eyelids. Sweat all over her body. Thighs clamped around his head, muscles taut. Falling, falling, over the edge! Her nails clawed into his skull, not caring if she hurt him.

_…fuck him! Fuck him for making me need him._

He winced under the rough touch, but kept the warmth of his tongue on her, like a heavenly blanket, until she’d stopped pulsing. Counting out her heartbeats. And just as she went to push him away, his lips enclosed her clit in wet warmth, his tongue lapping in quick, short strokes. The tiny nub sparking in pleasure. A star dying out, exploding in one last glorious burst.

Teeth dug into the palm of her hand, her other hand clawed onto her own breast. She was exhausted and limp when she came back down.

“Wow…” he panted, and she could hear it… he was the epitome of _smug_. “Christ. What a flood! I might have to build a fucking Ark!”

She didn’t reply. Breathing hard, she pushed him away with her foot, reaching down with one hand to tug her panties back into place. They settled uncomfortably, sticking to the messy wetness between her legs. Her entire frame was trembling. She hoped she’d be able to walk.

The bastard was _so_ proud of himself. “Was that good, Sher? Did Neegs do a good job?”

“Yeah,” she grunted. “You did a good job. Now, help me down…”

He clambered onto his feet, letting out a mild groan. “Shit, that is really hard on the knees. I’m not as fucking young as I used to be.”

“No kidding, grandpa.”

His hands grasped her, lowering her to the ground. Her legs were still quivering. She was weak, defeated. Tinder to his fire. How could he take her seriously when she burned up at his very touch? She sighed heavily, cut her losses, and smoothed down her mussed hair and wrinkled skirt. She tried to slide past him, but his bulk prevented it.

He pressed her to the wall. “Where you going…?”

“Out of here. Move.”

“Sherry…that isn’t nice. Don’t you believe in sharing?” He took her hand and guided it to his crotch. He was about to burst out of his pants. He rubbed her palm over his arousal, so thick and swollen under the rough denim… and she damned herself for liking the feel of it, for feeling that twinge in her stomach, even when her body was too spent to really respond.

_Enough already! I’ve got to get out of here._

She forcibly yanked her hand away. “When you give a gift, you’re not supposed to expect one in return.”

“What can I say…?” He pressed her even harder to the rough cinder block, his lips sloppy on her neck, his breath ragged. “I’m a greedy fucker.” He slipped his leg between hers, grinding the insistent bulge against her thigh.

“Negan…”

“C'mon…” He moaned against her neck, the friction against her leg increasing. “Don’t be so mean…”

“Negan!”

He let out a whimper, continuing to grind on her. “Please, Sherry…please. I’m so fucking horny for you, I can’t stand it. You can’t leave me hanging like this!”

She certainly could. It’d serve the horny fuck right. _I’ll let him blow his load right in his damn pants. Wouldn’t that be hilarious?_ He probably would too, if he kept up all this grinding. But by the time he did, she’d have severe rug burn. So she shoved his chest with a long, exasperated growl.

“Fine! Just stop humping me already! Ugh…you’re such a dog!”

“Woof fuckin’ woof,” he said, and she rolled her eyes. She fumbled along his thigh in the dark, finding his zipper. She yanked it down hard, half-hoping she’d catch sensitive skin. Disappointed by the lack of screaming, she thrust her hand into the opened pants, pulling his hardness free. She slipped down, and the floor was, indeed, quite unfriendly to the knees. Cold and unforgiving concrete, but she wasn’t planning to be here for long.

“Yeah. Fucking suck it, baby.”

“Shut up, or I’m not doing shit.”

“All right, all right…” He sighed and moaned quietly when she put her mouth on him. She squeezed her eyes closed. She was a mess of emotion. Anger, guilt, sorrow. Lust and attraction. Every time with him, he tangled her knots even further. She was forever losing to him.

She took him in deeper, slathering her tongue over his length. His dick was rock hard, she didn’t even need to tease him. _Good. This won’t take long at all._

“Yeah, Sherry…” He leaned back slightly. “Fuck…your mouth is so fucking good.”

She took her mouth off. “I said 'Shut up.’”

“Ok, ok.” He let out a grunt and went silent. Well, nearly silent. He moaned and gasped sharply as she pleased him, as she shifted on her knees and let her mouth operate on automatic. Just like he knew her body…she knew his. They were that close and natural, her tongue knowing just where to touch, all his delicate spots, her hand gripping him and stroking in just the motions he liked. Her legs were still trembling, her core still throbbing gently. _How can we fit together… and still be the wrong damn pieces of the puzzle?_

Her mind drifted… to her other piece… the other part lost to her…

He thunked something over with his restlessly shifting foot, his fingers sifting through her hair. She heard Negan but pictured Dwight… the look he’d thrown her. His mouth had been that hard, angry grimace she’d grown accustomed to since the apocalypse had begun. Frown lines and wrinkles being cut prematurely into his skin. His eyes… as hard as they appeared to others… she could see beneath the facade. Her betrayal cut him deep, but he was still hurting. He was afraid for her.

Dwight thought she was being harmed. She almost laughed through her mouthful. Tears seeped hot down her cheeks, and she choked; Negan was starting to push on her head, forcing her down further on him. So greedy, breaking their harmony. _Fucking ruining it. You dumb fuck. Why do you have to ruin everything?_

She gave a hard yank to his balls. He yelped and loosened his grip. That made her smirk. _Gotta show him who’s boss…_

That was a laugh, because she certainly wasn’t. She could barely keep herself going most of the time. Dwight wasn’t the only one wearing a mask.

“Fuck, Sherry…you’re so cruel,” Negan whined at her. She rolled her eyes. Yes, she was so cruel to him, as she rubbed the sting out of his balls, as she knelt there with his cock in her throat. He was suffering something fierce.

_You don’t know suffering, Negan._

Her thoughts on her other man, again. Every time she saw him… it was like this. The sight of him stabbed. It left her bleeding for hours. Sometimes days. Poor Dwight… he suffered so much. He agonized for someone not worth the time… someone who had betrayed him… _someone who still loves you…Dwight… I still do… but…_

_I ruined it._

A fresh wave of tears washed her cheeks…and she was done. Over this. The bleach smell was strong in her nose again, and Negan’s soft moans were making her insides roil.

_I need to get out of here_.

She moved her mouth and hand faster, rough. Too much sensation now…overloading him. It was too fast, not enough time to build up the intensity. He protested with a call of her name, but she ignored him. He tried to move back, an attempt to prolong the inevitable. But he was against the wall, as trapped as he’d made her…and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. _Fuck that!_ She wanted it as uneventful and quick as a light bulb sparking out. No bang, no glory. Just a sad little fizzle and pop.

His climax hit, a brief shudder, a moan muffled into a hand pressed to his face. Her mouth and hands off him after the initial spurt, no prolonging the contact. She leaned over and spat into the corner, projecting an apology to the poor sod who’d encounter that particular mess in the future.

“C'mon,” she said impatiently, rising to her feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Fuck…gimme a minute…” He leaned against the wall, breath coming in pants. “…fuck.” A few moments later, she heard his zipper and he finally stepped towards the door. She was eager to get out, the bleach smell giving her a headache.

And Negan giving her a heartache. Dwight flooding her eyes. Her heart in halves. Her eyes were swollen with the deluge, and her eyes wouldn’t be able to hold it back much longer.

He peeked his head out the door, then looked back at her with an 'all clear’ nod of his head. Slipping out of the closet, his grin was that of a boy successfully raiding the cookie jar. Her walk lacked the stealth of his, and she fell back into step with him. Air hit the cooling tears on her cheeks, and she scrubbed at them with her leather sleeve.

“Just like old times, huh, Sherry?” He laughed softly. “Sneakin’ around, fucking on the down low?”

“Yeah…” She sniffled and wiped at her nose.

“Shit.” He tilted his head back, scowling up at the duct work above them. “What are you crying about now? _I_ should be crying after that lame knob-job back there…”

“ _Fuck you_.” She glared. “Be fucking glad I even touched you at all. Like you deserve it after all the shit you put me through.”

Negan blinked, looking utterly baffled. “…What? Where did this come from?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and continued walking, her heels stabbing angrily at the ground.

“Sherry? Why the fuck are you pissed at me…?”

“Stop following me. I’m going home.”

“Uh…can you please clarify what I did wrong? I mean, fuck me, one minute you’re moaning my name, and the next you’re ripping my fucking head off?”

She stopped and glared at him. “I didn’t want to moan your stupid name!”

Her insults only seemed to amuse him. As usual. His inherent smirk hugged his lips and he grunted a laugh. “Who’s name did you want to moan then..?”

She continued to glare.

His eyebrows slanted down in a frown. “…Wait. Is this because I teased Dwight? Christ, Sherry, I was just having a little fun! It’s no big deal.”

_No big deal… to torment the man I love. No big deal, to put me between the two of you. When you know how I feel. When you fucking know!_

He laughed. “You’re seriously angry over that?”

A scream clawed the innards of her throat. “You think it’s fun? Ok. I got a little ‘fun’ for you. Let’s play pretend, Negan. Pretend that you lost a 'fine minx’ like me. How fucking stupid would you look…would you ever live that shit down?” The tears were starting to press the glass of her eyes, cracking it.. Her throat closing. “Only it’s not fucking pretend. You are this close, buddy. This fucking close.” Two fingers up, held only a breath apart.

He went rigid. A growl, like thunder in the distance. “Are you fucking threatening me? Over some stupid shit like this?”

“It’s not a threat…” She clenched her suddenly trembling hands into fists, planting them on her hips. “It’s a promise.”

“You aren’t going to leave me.” He smiled wide. Picket fence teeth, imploring her to stay in their blissful, storybook world. “Who says I’d let you leave?”

Her pulse was pounding in her throat. She swallowed thickly. “You did.”

He continued to smile, shaking his head slightly. She was an unruly child, she was a broken toy he had to hammer into shape.

She didn’t want to be like this, but she lashed out with her only weapon, her verbal whip. “What are you going to do, Negan? Go back on your promises? Keep a woman against her will? Are you going to force yourself on me too?” She laughed mirthlessly. “Ohhhh, but then you wouldn’t look 'reasonable’…you’d be a fucking rule-breaker! Hypocrite. Nothing but a goddamn _rapist_.”

He wasn’t smiling anymore. The storm was coming in with a vengeance; his eyes going dark under lowered brows, his teeth bared. “You watch your fucking mouth, Sherry. I can tolerate some of your shit, but you really, really don’t want to fucking push me any further right now.”

He’d never hit her before, but there was a first for everything. The thought made her cringe back against the wall. He was big, he could be so mean, and there was nobody who would dare stop him. Still, a vicious grin curved her lips. It didn’t help a damn thing, but it felt good to find a nerve on him and poke it into a frenzy.

“Oh, are you gonna beat me up? Is that what you’re going to do to me? If I push you? Well, go ahead! If it makes you feel better!”

He sighed and glared over at the janitor’s closet, their erotic encounter a distant memory. He was far from repentant, choosing to wound with his words. “Dwight doesn’t want you back. You’re used goods. And after what you did to him? He doesn’t want shit to do with you.”

Negan was an expert on her buttons. The ones to make her scream in pleasure…and in pain. This one made her heart bleed and she gasped from the sting of it, before forcing out her words. “Maybe. But he’ll take me. If only to spite you.”

He reached into his arsenal of wicked phrases, choosing one she never thought she’d hear. Not from him. “You…you don’t have _anything_ without me. Nothing.”

“I…I can’t believe that just came out of your mouth.” She shook her head. “And then… I can’t believe myself for thinking you’re better than that.”

Negan opened his mouth, then closed it, dropping his eyes to the floor. She’d managed to shut down his tongue for a blessed thirty seconds of silence.

“…I didn’t mean that shit. I don’t want you to go. You know that.”

_But why don’t you want me to go? Because you’ll look like an idiot. Because your ego can’t allow it. Nothing more, nothing less._ She didn’t move. She had frozen into a statue of Judgment; her scales tipped heavily against him.

He bit his lip, and she knew he meant it when he’d implored earlier: _'I hate it when you’re angry at me…’_ But not because it hurt him. Because it put a wrinkle in his perfect little world, where he got everything he wanted, and all the stars and planets spun around him.

Negan’s eyes were calculating, trying to figure a way through the impasse of her emotions. His intimidation and belittlement had failed, his regret was a bust. She could practically see his brain switch tactics. Reverting back to his old fail-safe. His charm. The allure inherent to him, easy and effortless…the spider with a web of golden threads. It was how he’d snagged her to begin with.

“Come on,” he said, lightly. He stepped towards her, letting the hard line of his shoulders soften and slump, so he didn’t look as big and aggressive. “Where would ole Neegs be without his Sher-Bear? I think he would just fall apart, don’t you?” The grin, so sweet, so winsome. “Who’s going to keep me in line if you go?”

She’d be alone if she left, no man would want to touch Negan’s left-overs, and Dwight would never… despite what she’d said. _He’ll never…_

Part of her wanted to step right into that broad chest, get wrapped in those black-leather arms and accept his claims of comfort and love – God, she wanted to believe him so bad that it killed her-

Her brain threw words into her mouth faster than her heart. “Shut the fuck up, Negan.” _Shut down that flow of honey, shut it down NOW._ “Save your sweet nothings. Because when it comes to you, they really are nothing.”

“Sherry…”

“I said shut up,” she growled. “Close your mouth. Why can’t you ever just shut up?”

He sighed. Those golden brown eyes, soft and warm. His lips that had worked so hard to please her, pouting. Eyebrows tilted up, the emulation of her sweet, cuddly puppy. The facsimile of the man she wished he could be.

Anger clawed her throat, burnt like acid. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t shut up, even when he was silent. “Don’t make that face,” she snarled, fists clenching, like she was going to knock the look straight off him. “Don’t!”

He bit his lip, stared off down the hallway. “I don’t know what you want,” he said, finally. “How can I make you happy?”

“I don’t want to hear you anymore right now, Negan!” She cried. “Leave me alone!”

“I want you to be happy, Sher-” He reached out towards her.

“Get away from me!”

“Don’t be like this. You’re acting unreasonable. There has to be something I can do-”

“Yeah. You can _shut the fuck up._ Now. You’re not doing yourself any favors by running that big fucking mouth.”

He straightened back to his full height, his eyes going dark. “Fine. If that’s what you want. I’m not getting on my goddamn knees for you…because whenever I do, it ain’t good e-fucking-nough for you. I’ve got better shit to do with my fucking time.” The charm was gone, anger and frustration blackening his face.

“Yeah.” She pushed off the wall, heels clacking into the desolate corridor. “You go do that 'better shit’. I’m done here.”

She could feel him watching her; she didn’t hear him move away.

“You let me know if you need any help fucking packing, huh?” He called after her. Always had to get the last word. She didn’t grace him with a response. She took her overflowing eyes and her aching heart up the stairs, up, up to her gilded cage. Upwards to a soft bed and the oblivion of sleep. She took two sleeping pills, pondered the rest.

Dumped them back.

No. She wasn’t done yet.

* * *

 

Ping-pong was so atrociously boring. Amber kept her gaze on the matches or on the floor. She didn’t dare look around. She feared her gaze falling on Mark. She hadn’t seen him since… the Iron.

_He might die because of you. He could get infected. He could be dead already, and nobody told you._

At the thought, her stomach lurched, and she moaned quietly, pressing one hand to her belly. Watching Negan prance about wasn’t helping her mood. He finished the game, maintaining his winning streak. After a crude comment to Dwight, he pulled Sherry away.

Her eyes glazed, she watched Thomas battling another Savior. He seemed to be playing better now that Negan was gone.

The matches continued. She watched mindlessly. Trying not to think. She couldn’t go upstairs yet… she didn’t want to hear the sounds of sex. Shanda drifted away after twenty minutes. Nova and Jazzi battled it out. Amber’s ears were ringing with Nova’s indignant shrieks every time she missed a ball, which was quite often.

She dared to look at the crowd. Mark wasn’t there. She locked her eyes on a man close to her, intending to inquire about Mark. When he saw her looking, he edged away. He didn’t want to be seen talking to one of the wives. She closed her mouth, pulled her coat tighter around her.

_If he died, Negan would tell me. Why pass up an opportunity to punish me even more? He’d definitely say something._

Her stomach was starting to hurt. Nova exploded into childish cursing as Jasmine made the last pass, sending the ball hurtling past the youngest wife. Match over. Jazzi’s lips quirked slightly as she set the paddle down.

“Pick that up…I ain’t done!” Nova screeched. “Best two out of three!”

Amber turned and made her way up the stairs. She’d gotten better at navigating them in heels. But for once, she wasn’t afraid of falling.

–

She was greeted by the smell of garlic as she entered the Penthouse. Peeking in the bedroom, she was surprised to see Sherry curled up in bed. She set her coat down on the couch in the sitting room, and entered the kitchen.

Shanda was stirring garlic and onions in a pan over the camp stove. She’d dragged out the second stove and was boiling noodles too. “Amber, babe, can you do me a favor? I’m feeling ambitious today. We’re gonna have garlic spaghetti.”

“Yeah? You need help cooking?”

“I think I’m alright for now. But I need some tomatoes for the sauce. And a pepper, if there’s any ripe yet.”

Amber nodded. She breathed in, smiling slightly. The smell of pungent garlic was taking her back, momentarily, to standing in her aunt’s kitchen… and she blinked and quickly shook the memory away. It was gone, dead, just like everything else good in her world.

Shanda stilled her spoon. “What’s wrong, hon? You look like you’re gonna cry.”

Amber sniffed. “It’s the onions…”

“Uh huh. I swear, it’s like Picasso’s Blue Period around here today.” Shanda frowned. “Everyone is so mopey! Sherry’s zonked out in bed… like what’s up with that?… and Negan is sulking over something, who knows with that man…”

“What’s there to be happy about…?” Amber mumbled under her breath, but if Shanda heard, she didn’t say anything. She turned back to the stove. Amber sighed, got her coat, and went up to the roof.

The skies were a reflection of her mood. Gray clouds lumped low on the horizon. The light dull. The air was heavy with the oncoming storm.

The greenhouse was stifling with its damp heat. Sweat gathered inside her fuzzy coat, feeling sticky under her armpits, slicking her forehead. She squeezed her eyes closed. Choking heat. Mark on the chair, the furnace roaring with fire. The heat… so intense. She was sweating inside her skin.

Her stomach lurched, she shot her eyes open and fumbled desperately at the tomatoes. Dropping one, accidentally stepping on it. Her hands shook, and she deposited them into a wicker basket. The peppers were small, so she let them be.

Stepping outside, the cooler air wiped some of the sickness away from her. The skies were darker now, and she tilted her head up. She was half-tempted to stand there until it rained, and let the deluge take her away. Instead, she went back down.

“You need any help?” She asked Shanda, even though she was a lousy cook, and the second eldest wife seemed content working alone.

“I’m trying to figure out how to make sauce. Should I smush all the tomatoes up first, or do you boil them or something?”

“I think you have to take the skin and seeds out first…” Amber said. “My aunt used to make homemade everything. Mostly Italian. She didn’t have anything else to do.”

“That sounds like it’s gonna be a pain. Maybe we still have a can of sauce around here somewhere.”

“Let me help.”

Shanda eyed Amber’s fuzzy coat and black dress. “You ought to change first, girl. You ain’t dressed for home.”

Amber eyed Shanda’s black lace lingerie (what wasn’t covered by the apron) and scowled. That was a ridiculous thing to be wearing while cooking.

“The mood he’s in,” Shanda continued, “I wouldn’t want to hear his bitching about it.”

“Oh, screw him…” Amber hissed under her breath, even as she headed towards their bedrooms to don her 'wife attire’.

The sky outside their bedroom window had turned to dark, furious gray. She squinted into the gloom, making out Sherry’s form on the bed. She tried to be quiet as she peeled off her boots and dress, dropping them to the floor. She was left with a plain blue cotton set of bra and panties. She decided to keep them on. She wasn’t in a mood for satin and lace, or for prettying herself up for _him._ …

She suddenly stiffened. Her eye caught a movement and she suddenly noticed the _smell._ The sharp, heady tang of alcohol. Her adjusting eyes went wide as she saw the armchair in the corner was occupied. Long legs sprawled out, a dark figure. Speak of the goddamn devil.

“N-N-Negan?” She gasped. “What are you doing in here?”

It was an unspoken agreement that he didn’t intrude into their space. She crossed her arms over her chest. Like he hadn’t seen her naked a hundred times. But something about his demeanor…

He mumbled something, and she saw his arm move. There was a dull glint of glass, the slosh of liquid, the stench of booze hitting her nostrils again. The jovial mood he’d held earlier seemed to be long gone.

“Um. Are you ok?”

Now that was a loaded question. He wasn’t 'ok’ on his best days.

He didn’t answer. She stepped forward tentatively, hyper-aware of his every twitch. She took up the long lighter from the top of the dresser, and set two of the candle lamps alight. He blinked at the brightness, an annoyed grunt pushing through his teeth.

Sherry was an unmoving lump in the bed, still in the same position. Amber squinted at her, trying to see if her chest was rising. The eldest wife rarely took naps. Her gut twinged nervously and she swallowed hard. “What’s wrong with Sherry…? Is she sick?”

“Sometimes I think you girls are more trouble than you’re worth.” Dreary words, gray as the clouds outside. “I try to keep you fucking happy…but what do I get? My fucking balls busted.”

“Ohhhh kay.”

He lifted the bottle. It was one of the wines he’d brought home for Sherry, and he’d already chugged a good portion of it. He looked towards the sleeping woman, his mouth down-turned and eyebrows frowning – what Nova referred to as his 'crankypants’ face.

“She wants to leave me.” -Swig- “She hates me.”

Her gaze flitted between his displeased pout and to Sherry…so still, like death, like he’d gone into a possessive rage and throttled her dead. Her knees went inwards and knocked…she gripped the dresser for support.

-Swig- More booze down the hatch. His furious eyes locked on hers as he tilted the bottle. The urge to flee was great.

“Sometimes you really piss me the fuck off,” he snarled, and that was it – she had to run. And her motion was the catalyst for the wolf, chasing down his darling deer. He shot from the chair, way faster than a drunk should, and snatched her arm in a bruising grip.

She cringed away from him, free arm flying out to shield her body. “No…Negan, please, don’t!”

He growled and moved backwards, the intoxication now apparent in his clumsy, unbalanced steps. He pulled her to the chair, so he could sink back down. The bottle swung loosely between his fingers. He could hit her with it, kill her with one blow.

She shivered in his grip, wanting to struggle, but afraid to set him off. Her face crumpled…she fought desperately against tears.

His tone was cruelly mocking, continuing his train of thought. “The way you’re always so fucking afraid of me. Like I beat the piss and goddamn shit out of you. Like I throw you down and rape all of your holes bloody. I mean, what fucking reason have I given you to act like that? You fucking _bitch_.”

The tears slipped and she damned them. Salt water was gasoline on his fire. Her lip quivered under the onslaught of vicious words; yet she tried to speak in a calm, even tone. Soothe the beast. “Negan. Please let go of me. You’re drunk.”

He raised a hand, his finger roughly tracing the path of her tears, from the corner of her mouth, all the way up to her eye – the lid twitching and squeezing closed in panic. “You stupid cunt.” He flung his restraining hand open, like she was too gross to touch.

She quickly backed away from him. He rolled his eyes, chugging more booze. She dared to turn, focusing on Sherry – still, the woman hadn’t moved. She stepped up to the bed, shakily reaching for the blanket. Pulling it down to expose the delicate line of her neck. It seemed unmarred…no ring of bruising, and she could see the pulse beating. She put two fingers on the pulse – it seemed normal, but she wasn’t a nurse. The fact that it beat, and that air was moving in and out of Sherry’s lungs…

She let out a trembling sigh, relief sagging her body.

Negan snorted behind her. “What did you think, Amber? That I killed her?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time you killed someone,” she whispered, and he snorted again.

“No. You want to know what’s wrong with her? Fuckin’ overreactin’ little Drama Queen?” He blew out a hissing breath through his teeth, his body sliding down further in the chair, almost laying in it. “She took pills.”

Now she could see the bottle on the night table. Sleeping pills. She whirled around, eyes wide. “Oh my God. Is she ok?! How many did she take?!” He didn’t share her panic – blinking impassively at her, like his outburst of hateful speech had drained him.

“Negan, don’t just sit there!” She turned and frantically shook the eldest wife. “Wake up, Sherry! Wake up!”

“She’s fine. And if she’s not, that’s her goddamn problem.”

_You asshole. I hope you get fucking alcohol poisoning._

A moan filtered from Sherry’s mouth and she opened her eyes. They were unfocused and groggy. “Ugh…what? I was sleeping..” She blinked. “Amber. What are you doin’? Leave me alone.”

Amber clutched a hand to her mouth, tears wetting her cheeks again. “Sorry.” She patted the woman’s shoulder. “Um…go back to sleep. It’s ok.”

The woman was already drifting into slumber, rolling limply onto her side. Amber backed quietly away from the bed, and nearly tripped over Negan’s sprawling legs.

He burped and sucked from the bottle. “Told ya she was fine.”

“Why did she take those?” She swiped at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. “What did you say to her?”

Negan didn’t answer. Still sucking on that damn bottle. He took a deep breath and let it dangle by his side, a sickly moan coming from his mouth. “Didn’t say nothin’…” he finally slurred.

“You must have! What did you do to her!?” Sudden anger gripped her, as she looked back at Sherry. Another woman wrecked by his insensitivity! But for Sherry’s sake, she kept her voice to a harsh whisper.

He winced and put a hand on his stomach. “Fuck…I think I’m gonna… puke.”

“I hope you drown in it,” Amber hissed, and he blinked at her with his eyes wide. She wanted to clamp a hand to her mouth, suddenly fearful. Her arm still ached from his brutal grip.

“Wow, Amber.” He closed his eyes, leaning his head back. Taking deep breaths. The bottle slipped through his fingers and thunked to the floor. “You fuckin’ hate me too, huh? Heh. Join the motherfuckin’ club. It’s always acceptin’ new members!”

Sherry moaned softly behind them.

“We should leave her alone.”

He grunted, and kept his head back. His eyebrows drawn together in pain, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Maybe the stupid bastard had gone and given himself alcohol poisoning after all. Amber could hardly feel sorry for him… but she found herself watching him closely. _He’s acting weird. Is he really… upset… over her?_

She shook her head to her own question. No. He was just sick with drink, and feeling pity for his own self, upset over whatever angst he’d wrought between he and Sherry. The pyromaniac crying when he got burnt by his own fire.

She let out a long, rattling sigh, and forced herself to be kind. “Come on, let’s go. She clearly needs her rest. And you do too.”

Negan’s mouth twisted, and he stayed in the chair. But he’d at least opened his eyes, as blurry and unfocused as his gaze was becoming. He stared at Sherry. Amber glanced back at the sleeping woman and sighed.

_She’s gonna leave me. She hates me._

_Join the club._

“It’s all right. She’s not going anywhere. Not right now.” She held her hand out to him.

He batted her hand aside and clumsily rose from the chair. She backed away from him, prickles of anxiety down her spine as he followed at her heels. With him safely away from Sherry, she closed the bedroom door. He swayed slightly in his boots, leaning his shoulder against the wall.

“Are you going to puke?”

“No.” He burped and held his stomach. “…dun think so…”

“Do you want to lay down?” In the stronger light of the sitting room, she could see his pallor… desolate and weary, his eyes too bright in the storm cloud of his face.

“Stop babying me.”

_Stop acting like one, then._ Her arm was throbbing. She wanted away from him, but she forced herself to stay in place.

“I’m fine and I’m not fucking drunk.” He hiccuped and let out a giggle. He watched her hand as it tried to rub the pain from her arm. A large sigh escaped him and he stared up at the ceiling. “Motherfuck…"His head thunked on the wall, lolling in his drowsing state. ”…Sorry I grabbed you. And called you a cunt.“

"Yeah.” She swallowed heavily. 'That wasn’t nice.“

"I’m not nice. That’s why she’s gonna leave. She’s right. I can’t stop her.”

She had to struggle against tears again. The thought of Sherry leaving knifed her, leaving a wound too deep to fill. How could she stay here without Sherry…? She’d be alone… with him. She sighed shakily. “Maybe you should try being nice.”

“I do fuckin’ try. Apparently, it doesn’t work.” He belched and it sounded just on the edge of vomit. He bent over slightly with his hand on his gut. She stepped back. The crisis seemed averted, as he leaned against the wall again, examining the ceiling with blurry eyes.

_Sherry’s threatened him before. He’s probably blowing things out of proportion. Being overdramatic, like always._

But she was afraid. Sherry had never done this before. Escaped into sleep? Maybe her back had finally been broken. Negan had been piling the weight upon her for years. Amber could feel it herself… her own spine bowing under the pressure… and she was still shy of her one year 'anniversary.’

His forehead creased, he still stared blankly upwards, a flash of despair crossing his irises. “…why _did_ she take those? Do you think she’d rather be dead than be with me…?” He drew in a breath that shuddered in his throat.

Amber opened her mouth, closed it. _This is weird. He’s being weird._

Her stomach crawled. He wasn’t looking at her, not pinning her with those feral eyes. She blurted out an impossibility, “Negan…if…if you love her…you should tell her.”

His lip curled. The alcohol must be soaking his veins now. The slur in his voice had gotten worse. “…she hates me. She hates my fuckin’ guts. She don’t believe anythin’ I say…And I’m suppos'ta say I love her? So she can throw it back in my face…like she does with everythin’ else?”

Amber stared at him. She felt like a therapist in Wonderland. _Everyone’s mad here. Nothing as it seems._ “But you do… don’t you?”

His lip curled further and his breathing was heavy, like a bull about to charge. His eyes were on her now, and they were mad. She gulped and cringed, but he merely expelled a long, scoffing breath. Rolling his eyes at the utter absurdity of her suggestion.

He shoved off the wall, stumbling slightly. “No. She wants to leave. And it’s perfectly fuckin’ fine with me! Bitch is impossible to satisfy and she don’t even return the fuckin’ favor. She ain’t even a good lay anymore.”

Amber frowned as he strutted across the sitting room. Clipping the side of one of the couches with his hip. He’d have a bruise, for sure, but he didn’t acknowledge any pain. He turned with a perfect Cheshire grin. “But ya know…what I hafta do…? If she goes…? Fuckin’ kill that motherfucker. I can’t have her… he can’t fuckin’ have her. I’d rather…”

Amber’s mouth had dropped. She was assuming he meant Dwight. _Would he really…?_

“…I…” Negan’s eyebrows shot up in distress, his mouth trembled… and he looked almost on the verge of crying. Amber froze in place. She could hear Shanda puttering in the kitchen, unaware of the crazy shit taking place just a few yards away.

“Ughh…” He let out a whimper, bent double, and puked all over the rug.

“Oh gross…” Amber moaned.

He hiccuped and wiped his mouth, starting to laugh. “Yep,” he continued, like nothing had happened. “Scar Face ain’t getting her back. Fuck that. She can leave. Be my guest. Don’t let the door hit ya where…” Another hiccup. “…can’t remember how that one goes. You know what I mean…”

He gagged again and Amber cringed. His stomach contents stayed put this time, much to her relief.

“…Bitch can take a long hike off a short fuckin’ cliff, for all I fuckin’ care.” He straightened up and smiled at her. “Right?”

“Uh…right, Negan…” She whispered. “Why don’t you… go lay down for a while?” Her head was starting to ache; she rubbed her temples futility. The sleeping pill bottle was sounding like a mighty fine idea.

He nodded and swayed, his balance all but gone. “…Yeah.” She watched him step in his own vomit and leave puke footprints all the way to his bedroom door. He thunked hard into the door frame before disappearing inside. She wondered if he should be left alone in such a state… and decided she didn’t care. She could hear him bumping into things all the way to the bed. She doubted he’d make it there.

Shanda peered out the kitchen door. “What the hell is going on out there?”

“Nothing. Everything’s perfectly fine.” Amber said it with a perfectly serene grin, and flounced in the kitchen to butcher a perfectly fine garlic spaghetti recipe.

What was one more fib in the lie of her life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like keeping Negan a bit ambiguous but just like with Amber's fears of Negan, Sherry's feelings about what's in Negan's heart may be the truth...or just her perception of the truth. 
> 
> There's only two more finished snippets to go. I don't really know if anyone is interested in this story or not. I'd like to try to crack down and finally complete this work but there's a lot of writing/connecting-the-dots and all that to do... and I dunno. I just don't know if there's an audience/interest at all or if I'm basically writing for my own eyes.


	20. Greater Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Mark’s burning, Amber struggles to continue being a ‘wife’ to Negan. In a few scenes not posted/finished, Amber has several awkward moments with him intimately, and Negan asks if Amber really wanted to stay and wants an answer sooner than later. (basically this is a smut chapter. XD)

_‘I want a fucking answer.’_

It was best to answer Negan with action. Amber laid in her bed. The ceiling was a blur before her eyes. She laid there for an hour… or maybe several. The light was hitting one wall when she laid down, and it had shifted to another when she got up.

_What’s my action?_

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was bed-headed, but it looked good that way, like she’d just gotten laid hard and rough.

_'You’re fucking crying… you don’t want me to touch you.’_

Her form blurred before her eyes.

She could do this action: Go to the closet. Get a regular shirt and jeans and her coat, and walk out the door. Wave goodbye to the girls. Go back to Mark, and let the world have its way with him. And hope that Negan wasn’t lying when he said she could leave, that she could go back to work, and earn her points as everyone else did.

She pictured Negan from last night. Looking at her with those earnest eyes, his hands clasped together. And the night earlier, when he’d stopped when she’d screamed, the way he had kept his touch off her.

_'Why didn’t you just fucking leave, instead of embarrassing us all?’_

His hand, holding the Iron. His jaw clenched, the slight way he’d shaken his head at her. His eyes, disapproving, disappointed.

_I think I could walk out. I think I always could._

She sniffed, wiping her hand over her face. There was no greater fear… than the fear of the unknown. And it still crawled in her belly, and haunted her mind.

_'I want to be here.’_

_'You’d better start showing it.’_

She moved. Action. Opening her night table, pulling out the red satin bra and panties. She pulled off her plain lingerie and put on her scarlet letter, the attire she’d worn when she’d created this entire mess with Mark, and…what she would wear to make it right.

_Nothing can make this right. But… I have to try._

She walked through the sitting room, then into the bathroom with vacant, light steps, like she was not in her body, like she was not there at all.

She opened the top drawer, reaching past contraceptives and kink gear, closing her hand around the bottle of lube. _Strawberry Heaven._ The bottle was sticky, and she unscrewed it with a grimace. She hated the smell. She hated the artifice of it.

_I’ve got to fake it long enough. I’ve got to act it out so convincingly that even I’ll believe it._

Her fingers slid beneath her panties and created lust and longing. Wet heat that smelled like berries and sugar. But if he noticed, she doubted he’d care.

She leaned into the mirror, cheeks cherry red. He liked her blush; loved her hair tousled. She stuck her lower lip out in a pout. That was going overboard.

_I hate myself._

_Stop it. Don’t say that. Don’t even think-_

_don’t think about_ anything.

She adjusted her lingerie set, making sure her cleavage was pushed up perfectly. She gave a final kissy-face to the mirror. Time to fulfill her mission - one battle in a never-ending war.

-

The girls were still involved in their cards, but Nova’s eyes tracked her. Amber ignored her, opening Negan’s door just wide enough to slip in, before shutting it quietly behind her.

Warmth flowed over her skin. He’d pulled a chair up to the fireplace. Plaid pajama pants stretched out, the soles of his feet getting roasted. He seemed perfectly still, book held up to his view. Bare arms, bare chest.

“Have you figured that book out yet? _'The Art of War’?_ ”

“All warfare is based on deception,” he said. “I think that’s a point to remember.”

She couldn’t agree more. Thighs sticky with deceit. Meeting his fire-flickered gaze. These bedroom eyes always lied.

Negan tilted his head, watching her curiously. The firelight diffuse, softening him, casting his muscles into stunning, shadowy relief. Like the sculptures of Michelangelo, masculine beauty chiseled from hard stone, made soft, made flesh.

_Hot. He looks super hot._

That, at least, wasn’t a lie. She could take that and run with it.

_See. Don’t think. Feel. Don’t_ feel _._

Her hand slid slowly up her stomach. She turned her back to him, fingers expertly unhooking her bra, languidly extending her arm to let it fall. Turning back to him, arms crossed over the soft flesh.

Her neck tilted lazily to the side, blond strands tickling her shoulder.

He watched her. The wolf and the deer. The doe stretching her arms up lazily, body curved to the side in an elegant arc. Her skin stroked by shadows, darkness under the swell of her naked breasts.

The wolf had gold and blood eyes, the wolf had gleaming fangs. He smiled as she approached with swaying hips. “Are you deceiving me?”

She pressed against his knees, looking down with hooded eyes. Mouth slightly open, her tongue licking upon her lower lip. A wet pout. “Why do you ask? Are we at war?”

She lit her fingers on the book, gently pulling. He relented, letting her take it away. She bent her knees, lithe and graceful. Setting the book onto the floor, straightening up with her eyes on his.

“I don’t know, Amber…” His voice was a low rumble. “You certainly seem to be fighting _me_.”

“Not anymore…” She whispered, casting her eyes down. She reached out to grasp his shoulder, holding on so she could climb into his lap.

She stroked his chest, moving her hands slowly up to his cheek. Kissing his slightly scratchy chin; she ran a finger along the stubble-sharp length of his jaw. “You need to shave,” she whispered.

“Yeah…” His hands settled onto her waist. Her hour-glass waist, so slender and lovely, those big hands nearly able to touch fingers when they encircled her. His breath hitched slightly.

She kissed up his jaw and to his ear, gently tugging the lobe in her teeth. Laying her cheek against his warm, soft hair. His hands were sliding upwards, cupping a breast in each palm.

_He smells good… he’s warm…_

She desperately grasped for the positive.

_I have to see him as a lover…If I’m gonna make it through this…I have to… love him…_

Those fucking fingers, softly pinching her nipples, rubbing them, they had curled around the Iron, they had-

_How can I love him – how can I even -_

She blinked hard, and took his face in her gentle hands. Staring into his eyes, she saw no protest, so she dropped her lips to his, slid in her tongue, moaned into the depths of him…

_Like screaming down the trapdoor to Hell, what the fuck is going to echo back up to me…?_

Lucifer had originally been an angel. He’d been beautiful. He was something you could’ve loved – maybe you still could. If you could see past all his transgressions -

She shifted in his lap, grinding her pelvis against him, feeling the hardening lump underneath her. The sticky lube getting pleasantly warm…her own wetness beginning to flow now.

He turned his head away from her kiss to regain his breath. His profile was beautiful in its refinement; the elegant sweep of nose, his fine brow, hair dark as storm clouds, eyes like copper… _Be shallow. Just see him. The outside. Don’t look deeper, don’t think deeper, don’t remember what he’s done, don’t even remember what you’ve done, just…_

_shut everything down, just-_

Her lips to the beating pulse in his neck. Sliding wetly to his ear, her breathy words traveling the pathways of his nerves. “ _Fuck me_ ,” she whispered, “I want you to fuck me…”

_That’s all I have to do._

His hands slid up her thighs, tightened on her ass. His mouth opened like he was going to say something, and she kissed him again – _Just shut up, Negan_.

She rocked on his trapped member, sliding wet cloth up and down…he wouldn’t be able to stand this teasing much longer. His breath was heavy when she took her mouth away. Her hand slid down, fingers slithered beneath his pants. Just a light brush of her fingers on his hot flesh, then she withdrew them.

“Ok…” he breathed. “…Yeah.” Whether or not he had misgivings over her change in behavior… that was a moot point. He was on her battlefield now, and she held the higher ground.

She slipped off of him, just long enough to strip off her underwear, and then she was back on his lap again, reaching both hands into his pants.

_It’s not him I have to deceive… it’s me._

He only cared about consent. Love meant nothing. Any connection beyond physical was too much for him.

_This should be so easy then. I can make him anything I want. He’s a blank slate. All I have to do is paint my picture on him._

Her hands clenched around his dick, pulling it free. Pushing it onto his belly, writhing her wet folds up and down its length, just teasing…oh feel that slick wetness, those strawberry fields, all the way up to the tip, all the way down to the balls.

His hips jerked at the apex of her grinding, trying to penetrate, but she slid down again. “Not so fast,” she whispered. “I want to go slow… I want to really feel you.” Her lips on his neck again, suckling a reddening love mark.

_Love Mark… Mark… can that be my picture… can I pretend he’s Mark?_ She closed her eyes and rocked on him, one hand stroking his hair.

_Mark had long hair of blond, textured like a horse’s mane. No! Now his hair is fine and silken and short, the pelt of a rottweiler. Mark had the smell of cloves and cheap laundry detergent. No, now he’s a wood fire and a leather coat! Mark’s body, so slender and soft and reedy? No, he’s hardened muscles and long, tall bones, his hands sliding up my back, big and rough, no…Mark’s hands aren’t like that, Mark is not-_

_Deceit! This is a war! Deceive yourself, now._

It was getting hot between them; she felt the sweat rising. “Oh…” he groaned, and tried to still her movements, his hands holding her hips in place. She pressed her forehead to his, eyes on his, Christ, there was no deceit to be had there. She couldn’t pretend those depths- all rich chocolate and cinnamon- were anything like Mark’s -

_Can you feel it?_ The thick shaft pushing into her, her walls clenching so snug and wet around it, every inch enveloped in her warmth. _Can you feel me… feeling you…?_

She had to close her eyes now, pressing her face into the junction of his shoulder. His hands settling on her waist, moving her hips in slow circles. She shuddered, moaned into his skin, damp from her fluttering breaths.

_It feels good…_

She wanted to whisper his name. _Mark._ It almost slipped past her lips and she had to tighten them closed, changing it to a whimper.

“Isn’t this better…?” he rasped against her neck, his tongue trailing her salty skin. “When you’re not fighting me?”

_Please don’t talk.._ Mark’s voice wasn’t that low, earth-moving rumble. How could she pretend when he wouldn’t shut his mouth?

He moved her faster upon him, and she angled her hips so his length hit lovely spots inside. Another name bitten back. She kept her eyes closed, moaning as he kissed and sucked her neck.

_How can I pretend anyway?_ Her hands on his shoulders, muscles hard as rock, chiseled from granite.

Even at his gentlest, Negan was not Mark. She could close her eyes. Close her ears. But the feel.. he was too hot, too fierce, too big… She shuddered. A dire wolf to a cocker spaniel, a nuclear bomb to a grenade.

His hands slid up her back and he was being sweet, he was kissing the soft spot on the underside of her jaw, purring, telling her how good she felt.

And that was good, because it meant he would keep her, it meant she could be of use. _I failed you, Mark, I hurt you, but I’m not going to let it be in vain._ She clamped her hands down on his shoulders, pulling her face out of his neck. T _ime to give this asshole his money’s worth._ She writhed and rocked and rode him until they were both groaning from the slick glorious friction.

“Amber…” he was breathless. “Yeah…that’s so fucking good… fuck…”

_Yes, good. That’s what you are…my good deed._

Those eyes, predator eyes, those hands, the hands of a killer.

_You’re my necessary evil_.

She ground down on him, driving him in deep. Sweat glittering from the exertion and the roaring fire behind her.

_Good…good! ..you’re my greater good_.

She gave him her answer, her final decision as her traitorous body writhed on this man. As her walls clenched and pulsed around him, as he released inside her. She cried his name to the ceiling, the stars, and all within earshot. The name of her savior, the only name that mattered. The only one that could save Mark.

“Negan!”

——------

“Ok. Way too fucking hot.” Negan scooped her spent body from where it draped onto his chest. He tottered over to the bed. “Damn, babe, you made my knees fuckin’ weak.” He laughed and set her on the mattress.

She curled up, distinctly aware of the air moving in the room, cool across her sweaty skin.

“I guess you’re staying then?”

She wished he didn’t have to be so dense about everything. _I just rode you like a show horse, you idiot. I put on your favorite red lingerie. What the hell do you think?_

“Yeah, Negan,” she pressed her face to his black blanket. “I’m staying.”


	21. War is Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this is the last finished snippet I have until the story is finished. Once it's finished, I'll most likely delete this fic and upload the story anew in its completed state. Thanks to anyone who read and/or commented. 
> 
> In this snippet, Gregory has turned up at the Sanctuary to inform Negan of Rick's alliance with the other groups under Negan's rule.

"Your comb-over is ineffective.” Jasmine’s voice drifted from the kitchen.

_Comb-over? Who the hell is in there?_

“Jasmine!” Negan’s voice was a booming reprimand, sullied by the laughter edging his words. “That isn’t fucking polite. Heh. That’s what I love about her. Straight up tells it like it fucking is. Kind of like me.”

“It’s not a comb-over,” came a wheedling male voice. “It doesn’t classify as a comb-over.”

“It classifies as a bad hair-day, no matter what you want to fucking call it. But shit fuck, you’re not here for fashion advice, are you, my good sir?”

“Er…”

Amber had to see this – despite her trepidation. She went in, fearing she’d see knives and scissors and all manners of torture devices laid out on the table. What she got was a portly gentleman dressed in a sport coat. A look of worry was ingrained into every line of his face, a beard of salt-and-pepper scruffed his chin and jaw, and a few straggly strands of hair were strewn across a heavily receding hairline.

Jasmine was sitting in the chair across from him - dressed inappropriately for company as always – her camisole sheer enough to be useless as clothing, and a pair of panties that matched. The man was clearly trying not to look at her.

Negan was cramming a sandwich into his mouth, leaned nonchalantly on the kitchen counter. A pot of water neared boiling on the camp stove. He had the coffee jar and measuring spoon set next to it, and Amber dearly hoped that’s what he planned to use the scalding water for.

“Oh hello, babe,” he greeted her. Shanda entered too, and he nodded at her. “Or, babes, I should say.”

Amber looked pointedly at their guest.

“Right.” Negan gently smacked his own cheek, “How rude of me. Introductions all around then. These two lovelies are Amber and Shanda, and girls, might I have the pleasure of introducing Gregory, the leader of the Hilltop. I’ve told them a lot about you, haven’t I, girls?”

_A whole lot of insults and death threats_ … Amber recalled.

“Um…yeah…” She tentatively smiled at the man. He smiled back, a forced thing, his eyes wavering for a moment between her face and her chest.

“Yeah, this motherfucker right here is tough as fucking nails. Motherfucker is hard. He can probably slay with his very gaze, like Medusa or some shit.” Negan leaned over and clapped his hand admiringly on Gregory’s shoulder and the man jumped a mile.

Laughing, Negan leaned back, as Amber deposited the tomatoes onto the counter. “Medusa didn’t kill you,” she said, arranging the red vegetables in a line from largest to smallest. “She just turned you to stone.”

Negan rolled his eyes. “That’s kind of a minor fucking quibble, Amber. Dead or stone? You’re out of commission either way.” He graced Gregory with his most charming smile, his _‘look at how friendly I am’_ grin, every damn white tooth exposed. “Fuck, Gregory can probably do that too. Yeah, looking at him, I’m practically rock-hard already.”

Shanda hooted and slapped her thigh; Gregory’s eyes flitted in panic.

Jasmine gave Negan a curious look. “That was an odd innuendo. Do you find him attractive, Negan.”

“What?” The Savior Leader wore a look of innocent confusion. “Dirty fucking minds. Always in the gutter. Why I never…” He clucked his tongue in disapproval.

Gregory still seemed to struggle for words. Amber felt bad for him, even if he was as pathetic as Negan claimed. She didn’t envy his unknown voyage on the turbulent waters of Negan’s mind.

“Why is this guy here?” Shanda asked, but she didn’t sound particularly interested.

“He’s here to help us,” Negan said. “As motherfucking badass as he is, Gregory is of the same mind as me. We don’t want this war.” He polished off the last of his sandwich and brushed the crumbs off his hands.

“War is bad,” said Jazzi.

“Yes, that’s right,” Negan said, smiling. “War is bad.”

Gregory stared at Jazzi like she was a creature too dumb to exist. He cleared his throat. “Yes, uh… it’s very bad. And I don’t want it, either! I never wanted this, Negan. There were certain people in my community, who, behind my back, were drawn in by the words of Rick Grimes.” His brow darkened. “You aren’t the enemy. I know that. It’s this Rick character. He’s leading my people astray!”

Negan half-turned towards the boiling water; Amber cringed. _Oh no. Oh no… what’s he doing-_ He stirred in the instant coffee. She let out a breath. His gaze flitted over to her… a little smile curling his lips.

Gregory shifted in his chair, unnerved by Negan’s lack of response to his exclamation of undying loyalty. It sounded more like undying bullshit to Amber… _this guy is a total suck-up. Sounds more like he just wants to be blameless in all this… he doesn’t want a barbed-wire spanking._

Then Negan turned and nodded to the pudgy man with an impressed gaze; Gregory stopped fidgeting. “Ok. I take it back.”

The Hilltop Leader looked confused.

“All the times I said you had shit for brains. You actually are a smart fucker, aren’t you?”

“Er…I pride myself on my intelligence,” the man groused.

“Then again, even a shit-for-brains can fucking deduce this outcome. It’s gonna be a motherfucking bloodbath, and we all know who’s gonna drown in the tub. I see a one Prick Grimes, a fucking King-wannabe and his little kitty-cat, and anyone else who stands with them… they’re all floating blue-faced and dead as goddamn fuck.”

Gregory’s face had drained of color; Negan’s voice had grown steadily more vicious, and now his smile wasn’t that of the friendly adversary… no, it was the smile of Lucifer himself. “You want your people to get out unscathed, don’t you? And more importantly - I can tell - you want your own pathetic hide out of harm’s way.”

“My…my people are important to me,” the Hilltop Leader stammered. Negan wasn’t looking at him now – his attention focused on pouring two cups of the steaming coffee.

“I don’t want them to die…and especially for something senseless like this. We… I… don’t want to fight you. They’ve just been brainwashed by Rick…” He insisted again, trailing off; Negan was holding out one of the cups to him. He took it, looking shakily down at his reflection on the dark liquid. “Er…thanks…”

“And that’s precisely why you’re here. You’re going to snap them the fuck out of it. You’re going to convince them to abandon their alliance with Rick, and you’d best believe you’re speaking for their lives. I will fucking slaughter every goddamn one of them, Gregory, every man, woman and little fucking child who takes up arms against me. You understand that, don’t you?” Negan still had that smile, and it was making Amber sick.

“Yes…” Gregory squeaked. He was turning a sallow color, sweat popping out on his temples. He cleared his throat and tried to sound more authoritative. “I’m their leader…they’ll listen to me… and Rick’s group will have to disperse…they won’t have a chance once my people leave.”

“Great.” Now the Savior Leader’s eyes squinted cheerfully. He nodded towards Gregory’s cup. “Drink up, man, you’re going to need your energy.” And he stared the man down, those eyes pinned him down until Gregory was forced to gulp the scalding liquid into his gullet, tears and sweat weeping down his face.

Amber bit her lip and turned away, and as she exited Negan called to her, “Amber…get the boys, would you? I think it’s time for Gregory to retire to somewhere a bit more fitting.”

She obeyed, and they dragged Gregory away…she knew where…the storeroom prison, where the man would rot and fret and hopefully conjure up words strong enough to turn the tide of this war before it struck shore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that’s all for a while! I’m working on organizing all I’ve got written and hopefully getting this story done before another 4 years passes. O.M.G
> 
> If I could ask a favor…? Is anyone interested in this story? Would you read it if I wrote more? I’ve still got a lot of work to do on it. I do intend to finish it, but knowing that I have people who’d want to read will give me way more motivation than I can dredge up on my own. So please let me know! You don't have to say much, just a yes will do :) Thanks :)


End file.
